


The Delinquents

by marauders_groupie



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Mental Illness (mentioned), Punk Band Au, Roadtrip, Social Justice, Social Media, excessive use of words punk rock, i mean they are a punk band, rated M for a lot of swearing and a hint of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 19:12:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4931899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauders_groupie/pseuds/marauders_groupie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Bellarke / The 100 punk band AU you didn't know you needed!</p><p>Featuring: Bellarke will they won't they (kill each other), roadtrips, excessive use of words "punk rock", Octavia who is 100% done with everyone's shit, Raven who is awesome and likes to make things go boom, and a guest appearance from Jasper and Monty as part time social media managers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Delinquents

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took twenty years of my life from me and, like Ron Weasley prophesized in PoA, "You're gonna suffer but you're gonna be happy about it." I mean, this is my baby. 
> 
> Warning: I'm not a musician. I have a friend who sings and plays guitar but I don't do anything except go to her gigs and tell her how awesome she is. So if I screwed up something regarding technicalities, please let me know. 
> 
> Also, swearing. There's a lot of swearing. A lot of talk about what punk is. I don't know, I'm not in control of the muse. Sorry.

“What do _you_ know about punk, Princess?”

It isn’t a conversation Clarke thought she’d be having one year into med school. It isn’t a conversation she thought she’d ever be having, and yet she’s still sitting across a tall, dark and handsome stranger who twists his mouth into a sneer whenever he looks at her.

It isn’t her fault, she thinks. When her roommate, Octavia, heard her singing the night she got pissed drunk and every line of The Killers’ When We Were Young seemed to strike a chord right in her heart, Clarke didn’t think she’d be dragged to The Delinquents’ rehearsal and introduced as a potential singer.

Clarke doesn’t sing. She doesn’t really do anything at all, at least not lately when even taking a shower and wearing actual clothes seems like a chore.

But Octavia heard her and she dragged her to the practice, so Clarke is sitting in front of Bellamy Blake, O’s brother, who looks like he might get sick just by looking at her. She’s not welcome here.

“I’ve heard her, Bell,” Octavia snaps, sitting next to Clarke in her patched leather jacket and looking just like a punk-rocker should. “She knows about punk, trust me.”

There’s a vicious glint in Octavia’s eyes that makes Bellamy shut up but he’s still looking at Clarke like she’s about to jump out of her seat and yell something like ‘Bitch, you thought!’

For the better part of the last few months, Clarke has been completely lost and the conversation takes place without her actually saying anything. She’s sort of resigned to taking the blows as they come and it would take more than Bellamy Blake to make her snap out of it.

“We don’t need a singer. I’m the singer.”

“Yeah, but you need a female lead. It sucks without Roma.”

“Roma _left_.”

There’s a huge chunk of information Clarke hasn’t been provided with but she doesn’t ask. From what Octavia told her, The Delinquents is her brother’s band, she plays the bass, and there’s a really cool drummer who either loves you or kicks your ass. And they have a demo album coming up.

They need a singer, too.

Clarke isn’t sure how well she fits the part, if she even fits it, but she was willing to meet with the band only because she owes Octavia. If it weren’t for her, Clarke would probably starve. Everything was more or less flimsy in the last few months but Octavia has been a constant.

“Bell, stop fucking around. You wanna hear her or not?”

He considers it for a moment, worrying his lower lip, and then he nods – or doesn’t, Clarke can’t see it in the dimmed lights but Octavia is dragging her up from her seat and ushering her towards the microphone.

Octavia is hot on her heels when Clarke wraps her hand around the mic and for a moment it looks like Bellamy is going to tell them to screw themselves and physically throw Clarke out.

He doesn’t. His feet are firmly grounded at a safe distance from them, leaning on the garage door with his hands in his jeans’ pockets and his lower lip being mangled by his teeth.

“I’m gonna take care of the beat for you but Clarke, “Octavia explains, slinging the bass guitar strap over her shoulder, “it’s not going to be the same without a real guitar.”

Clarke nods, observing Octavia glare at Bellamy, but neither of the siblings speak. Bellamy, as far as Clarke knows, is the lead male vocal and the guitar. But he’s not going to help around.

“Bell, you’re such an ass, seriously – you won’t help us?”

“Nah. I don’t even know the song.”

Clarke doesn’t really care, she just wants to get this over with and finally, finally Octavia starts strumming the wires to a rhythm she recognizes.

It’s different this time around, no track to sing along to but she manages. Somehow. Her voice cracks just at the beginning and the amplifier makes it too loud for her to hear her thoughts but she knows the words and she’s desperate to get them out of her throat.

Her body thrums with vibrations of her own voice and Octavia’s bass, the song finding its way underneath her skin and she forgets. For a moment, she forgets about everything else but the perfect harmony of Octavia’s skilled fingers on her guitar and her own voice echoing throughout the room.

It’s good. It clears her head. There’s nothing to think about.

The end comes with Octavia mellowing it down, slow, tentative strokes on the strings when Clarke’s voice already died out and then it’s over.

Bellamy shifts his weight uneasily when he comes to stand in front of her and he looks pissed off. Octavia’s presence at Clarke’s side is comforting but she doesn’t really care what the grumpy jerk will think of her. This is a favor to the person who took care of her.

It’s not like Clarke is a singer. She’s not. The only thing she is is a spectacular failure, an artist who can’t even remember how to hold a pencil anymore and she’s sort of at the rock bottom so she might as well roll in the mud while she’s there.

He sounds pissed off when he speaks, too. “That was good.”

Octavia lets out a loud cheer and Clarke finally gets why he was pissed off. He actually liked her.

“Your voice is kind of a mess, you’re definitely alto but it fits with the band,” he elaborates, glaring at her. “The spot is yours if you want it.”

Does she? Does she want to sing in a punk rock band when she’s got so many other things to take care of?

“Okay.”

Octavia is fucking ecstatic, she wraps her arms around Clarke and just bounces up and down, screaming and cheering – it’s hard not to get overtaken by it.

Bellamy, on the other hand, looks fond when his eyes set on his sister and he cracks a small smile.

“We still need to introduce you to Raven, though,” he adds.

“Raven is going to _love_ her, c’mon,” Octavia rolls her eyes and then they’re out the door, the brunette’s voice erratic and wild in Clarke’s ear as the leaves crunch under the soles of their boots.

She wants to say that she feels better but - she still feels nothing at all. Just the tingly feeling in her whole body, numbness and blank space where there should be something.

It’s just that nothing quite fits, hasn’t fit – not since her dad died two and a half months ago. Her mom seemed to take it as well as she could, throwing herself into so much work that she could do nothing except sleep and eat, rinse and repeat. Abby Griffin coped with it the only way she knew.

Clarke, on the other hand, was different. And so vastly different it drove a wedge between the mother and the daughter when screaming matches increased to that point that Abby just asked her to go back to her own apartment. She couldn’t deal with it. Clarke couldn’t either. She couldn’t deal with her mother shutting her out, mourning in peace and solitude while Clarke’s sadness resembled a dying animal – wailing and thrashing and burning everything in its wake.

It just felt odd that time still passed even when Jake Griffin was dead. People kept doing what they were doing, sunsets and sunrises still shifted on a daily basis, people grew old, kids got born, couples fell in love and -

Clarke was just sitting there and taking it. The whole world might live on but she wouldn’t. She _couldn’t_.

Octavia snaps her out of her reverie and she comes to a stop on the pavement.

“You okay, Clarke?”

“Huh? Yeah, sure,” she nods, shoving her hands into her pockets. It’s unusually cold for spring but then again, winter’s barely over and they should be thankful for not having to wear a coat.

Octavia’s smile is brilliant, all teeth and dimples, “I’m glad we did this.”

Clarke met Octavia a year ago, the brunette appearing on her doorstep to answer Clarke’s ad about a roommate. She didn’t want to live on the campus but that proved to be surprisingly complicated because she didn’t want to live alone. That’s where Octavia stepped in, rambling about taking a course in economics and a course in history and no – she has no idea what’s she wants to do but she has this waitressing job and yeah, the place is perfect.

They made fast friends, in between Clarke’s classes and her job in a coffee shop, and Octavia’s classes and her own job. They bonded over their shared love of shitty-flavored vodka and really stupid puns.

What Clarke didn’t know, but she soon came to find out, was that when you made friends with Octavia – you had a friend for life.

That became pretty clear when Octavia was the one to hold her close as she cried the day she found out her father died. It became even clearer when she lay on her bedroom floor, struggling to get up and do something. Just move.

Octavia got her up like it was no weight at all, stripped her clothes and helped her shower even if it meant she had to get herself wet in the process.

She took care of Clarke, and for no real reason. No reason except the fact that she was a nice human being for whom Clarke was deeply grateful to whoever was listening, to whoever sent her Clarke’s way.

But Bellamy seemed to be the polar opposite of his sister. They shared the same defiant jaw, the same spark in their eye when they were about to prove their point but – Octavia didn’t inexplicably hate her, not like Bellamy did.

Not that Clarke cared. But she was curious.

“What’s up with Bellamy?” she finally asked when they were back in their apartment and Octavia started shuffling with pots and pans in the kitchen.

When she heard Clarke, she suddenly stopped and turned around with a worried look on her face.

“I’m really sorry about him. He’s just – Bell’s messed up. But he’ll come around. I hope that doesn’t mean-“

“Don’t worry,” Clarke tried for a reassuring smile and, judging by the way Octavia visibly relaxed, the message came across. “I’m not gonna quit on you.”

“Oh, good.”

 

**

 

Clarke meets Raven Reyes the very next day. They are back in the garage around noon, seemingly the only time no one has any work. Clarke figured she’d be alright without working for a while, she had enough saved up and that line of reasoning leaves her confused. She didn’t think about making it through actual, adult life up to that point. She just went with the flow. But now, now she was making plans, and Octavia seemed thrilled about it.

Just as thrilled as Raven was when she shook her hand. Raven was - hot. That was the first thing that sprang to Clarke’s mind when she saw the girl. And then she heard her curse like a sailor and threaten to kick Bellamy’s ass if he didn’t shut up right that instant, and Clarke was _so_ sold.

“I’m Raven,” she introduces herself, hopping over to where Clarke’s standing. “Yeah, don’t mind Blake, he’s being a little bitch.”

Bellamy looks like he is about to protest but she shuts him up with a glare that could definitely kill and then turns back to Clarke, still smiling.

“I’m the drummer. A cool one. Not the betraying sort. And welcome to the band, I heard you sing real good.”

That takes Clarke by surprise. She raises her eyebrows at Octavia who merely shrugs, and then she turns to Bellamy.

“I said you’re okay,” he grunts in defense.

“That means he’s impressed,” Raven winks and then drags her over to the mic. “We have a gig this weekend so we’re just messing around. We’ll be covering the Ramones, Green Day, that sort of thing. You okay with that?”

“Sure, yeah.”

“Let’s get on with it, then.”

It takes them a couple of moments to get settled. Raven perches herself on a stool behind her drums, tapping the sticks against her thigh. Clarke had noticed that she walked with a limp, dragging her left leg behind but she didn’t want to bring that up. She has her own questions she doesn’t want to answer.

Octavia messes around with her bass while Bellamy grunts, adjusting the strings and checking if his guitar is tuned. Clarke just sort of stands there, looking around like she hadn’t seen the garage day earlier. And she didn’t, not really, it was all hazy and weird and dimmed.

Everything seems much clearer now.

“Okay, on the count of three. Blitzkrieg Bop, okay?” Bellamy asks, and Clarke nods.

The first try is a fucking catastrophe. Clarke and Bellamy can’t harmonize for the life of them which only makes Octavia yell at her brother for not even trying, and Clarke backs away.

They try again and the progress is barely audible.

By the fifth try, Clarke is steadily growing more and more pissed off with Bellamy. Every time he strikes a wrong chord, he’s lost for the rest of the song. And when Clarke hits the wrong note (which – ridiculous, this is a _Ramones_ song – they were all practically screaming anyways) he stops the whole thing to yell at her.

She takes it. She takes it because she doesn’t care.

But when he turns to her for the fifth time, their tenth try so far, with obvious intention to scream at her again, she is _done_.

“Jesus, Princess, we’re not playing Leonard fucking Cohen, wanna get with the program already?”

“What exactly is your fucking problem?” she snaps in return, ready to wring his neck.

Whatever she did wasn’t right. She either hit the wrong note or rushed the song or sang the wrong lyrics – it didn’t matter that she didn’t actually do any of those things and that Bellamy kept blaming her for whatever happened, even if it wasn’t her fault.

“My problem is,” he snarls, gripping the neck of his guitar so tight that his knuckles turn white, “your inability to sing this fucking song.”

Clarke was just about to reply, her fists already clenched at her sides, when Raven abruptly stands up, throwing her sticks to the ground.

“You two need to sort your shit out and stop ruining the fucking practice already!” she shouts, both at Bellamy and Clarke. “Call me when you’re reading to fucking play and not squabble like brats!”

And with that, she rushes through the garage door as fast as she can with her limp. Octavia looks severely unimpressed when Clarke turns to look at her, only to find that she was already looking at them.

“Raven’s right. This can’t go on. And don’t think about quitting the band,” she threatens when Clarke opens her mouth to speak, “just get your shit together.”

She follows Raven soon enough, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone.

For a while, neither of them speaks. And then they speak at the same time.

“Fucking hell -“

“Seriously, Blake-“

The vein in his neck is pulsing and his cheeks are red and Clarke wants to punch him. She knew he didn’t like her but this band – this was their shared interest and she was trying to do her best despite his sarcastic remarks and an all-around shitty attitude towards her.

But he wasn’t trying at all. He was resigned to hating her, obviously, and she had no time for that.

“Do you not want me here? Is that what this is about? Because I didn’t beg Octavia to drag me here and I sure as hell didn’t sign up for your tantrums!”

“Well, I didn’t sign up for a singer who can’t even hit the right note but here we are!”

“You know damn well this isn’t about my singing,” she hisses. “I don’t see you getting on their asses for what they’re doing but you sure as hell love blaming me for everything like I’m the only person in the band!”

Her blood is boiling and it takes her every ounce of self-control not to get in Blake’s face and prove her point with her fists.

He’s still gripping the neck of his guitar like he’s about to break it and when he speaks, it’s with pure venom. “You come here, wearing that leather jacket,” he sneers, “that probably costs more than my year in rent and you think you know shit? Fucking princess.”

So that’s what it was about. Good, she could handle assholes who only saw her as a dollar sign.

“You want the jacket!?” she shouts. “You want the jacket? Here,” she rips her jacket off, throwing it to the floor between them, “here, take the fucking jacket if it’s the jacket that’s pissing you off!”

He stares at the black thing on the floor like it personally pissed him off and it doesn’t look like he’s about to say anything, taken aback by her words.

But Clarke is only getting started.

“You want more!? You want my car? What _do_ you want? Kick me out of the band then! If it’s my fucking jacket and my fucking money that makes you think I’m a shit singer – take it, then! I don’t even give a flying fuck about what you think – I’m here for Octavia, and you can go fuck yourself!”

“You’d love that, Princess, wouldn’t you?”

“Fucking stop that - that stupid name! It’s not my fault you have a chip on your shoulder and you decided to hate me the moment I came yesterday! That’s your fucking fault and you don’t know shit about me!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he mocks, rolling his eyes. “Did I insult you? What, daddy kick you out and now you have to slum it with the peasants?”

Clarke’s stomach clenches and she is angry. She is blood-boiling, muscle-tensing angry and she has absolutely no time for sadness.

“The last time I checked, he was dead,” she spits out, this time unable to keep herself from getting into his face. “And dead people don’t kick their kids out.”

They still, inches apart, and Bellamy opens his mouth, breathless, eyes wide in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, something in his voice that she takes time to recognize but when she does – it makes her hate him even more.

“I don’t need your fucking pity.”

Clarke moves away, bile still rising in her gut and she sees nothing but blood red. Here she is, trying her best without any experience, keeping her mouth shut as he eggs her on, and then he crosses the line like it’s nothing – nothing at all.

His fingers wrap around her forearm as she passes him on her way through the garage door. “Clarke-“

She snaps her arm out of his grip and pauses in her steps to spit out one last thing. “Save it.”

The doors slam shut behind her and she steps out on the street, looking around in a daze. She’s still angry, stills wants to punch Blake, and her breath catches in her throat from the sheer force of her fury.

What a fucking bastard.

There’s a bar down the road and that’s where Clarke goes, taking one step at the time. She needs vodka. Or whiskey. Stat.

She finds Raven and Octavia by the bar, nursing their beers and talking in low voices. When they notice her, they wave her over with matching somber expressions.

“You good?” Raven asks, throwing a glance in her direction. Clarke nods. “Good. Look, I don’t give a fuck what Blake says. Not you, O,” she adds when she notices Octavia’s pointed glare. “I’m just saying – Bellamy can say whatever the fuck he wants but all I wanna know is – are you fucking pissed?”

Clarke nods again. She is. She is so fucking pissed at absolutely everything and Bellamy Blake is only the cherry on top.

“Good. We are too. So welcome to the club and we don’t have no jackets but we’ve got a shitty tour van and each other. That’s punk. We’ve got our reasons for being angry and that’s what the band is all about. I’ve got this stupid leg,” she taps her left thigh, “O and Bellamy have their tough lives. And I don’t know what your deal is but you’re angry. I don’t care if you’re rich as long as you’re not a bitch.”

Raven’s honesty is refreshing and it makes Clarke crack a small smile. There was a lot of talk about punk and what it means, more than it was sane, but Clarke suddenly realizes why that kept happening. She realizes why Bellamy was so insistent on her being unfit for the band.

Punk is being angry. Punk is screaming at the top of your lungs about the shitty world you lived in, your shitty life that might not get better but – you have the music, you have the ragtag bunch and you’ve got your anger.

“My dad is dead.”

Raven nods, waving the bartender over. “Get her a whiskey. And I’ll have another one of these.”  
Then she turns to Clarke. “That fucking sucks and I’m sorry. But welcome to The Delinquents.”

 

**

Their first gig together goes without a hitch, much to Clarke’s surprise.

The two rehearsals they had went well. Bellamy and she still bickered but he didn’t go out of his way to pick on her anymore which was a miracle in its own. He did get out of the garage as soon as he could but Clarke didn’t care. All that mattered was that, now that he’s decided not to be an asshole, they could work together. And they were _good_.

So it wasn’t like Clarke needed to be nervous about their first gig but she still is. So far, the only ones who heard her were the people in the band and yeah, she figured that if she could gain Bellamy’s approval, no one else’s would be that hard to come by but still, she was new to all of this. So painfully new that it doesn’t fully hit her until she steps into the bar they are supposed to play in (a nice, low-key place downtown named “Grounders”) and her legs turn wobbly.

Raven notices her freezing and she’s at her side in a second. “You okay, Clarke?”

“Huh? I- yeah, fine.”

She knows that she doesn’t exactly sound convincing but she can’t help herself. A decent-sized crowd is already near the stage and she can see people coming to say hi to Bellamy and Octavia. The Delinquents are obviously not some unknown band stuck in garage because they are bad. Instead, they are good and people know about them.

Shit.

“Clarke, hey,” Raven’s hand is light on Clarke’s shoulder and that grounds her a bit, “it’s okay if you’re nervous. But don’t worry, you’re gonna do great.”

“It’s just that - I mean, you guys have fans. And they know Roma,” this elicits a scoff from Raven and Clarke makes a mental note to find out what the fuck happened with the previous singer, “so what if they hate me?”

“We’ve got a small but loyal fan base, yeah,” Raven nods. “And they are going to love you. Roma sounded like she was about to come most of the time anyways.”

Clarke laughs, a nervous little chuckle, but Raven’s words are helping. She can do this. She can totally do this.

“If in doubt, just hit Bellamy and the crowd’s gonna go wild.”

Raven Reyes is a fucking gift to this world and Clarke tells her just as much, so she lets out a hearty laugh, draping an arm over Clarke’s shoulder. Together, they reach the table where the rest of the crew is already sitting.

There are new people there, people Clarke didn’t see earlier, but Octavia introduces her to everyone. A guy with goggles hugs her instead of shaking her hand and it feels weird, but in a nice sort of way.

“That’s Jasper,” Octavia laughs. “And that’s Monty.”

Monty is Jasper’s best friend, something Clarke realizes in the next few minutes, and he is as quiet as Jasper is loud. It feels impossible not to like them.

“They’re our techs,” Raven explains.

“And part-time social media managers, thank you very much,” Jasper pips in. “We’re the ones responsible for that crowd.”

“Oh, and that has nothing to do with how good our band is?” Bellamy teases.

“Nope.”

Sometime later, Clarke meets Nathan Miller too. He is the de-facto manager of the band, even if he doesn’t look the part. But, apparently, he’s the one responsible for this gig and many others, and the album they’d be recording.

Spending the time with the crew almost made Clarke forget that she was supposed to step on stage and when the realization hits her, it’s too late and she’s shaking as Raven, Bellamy and Octavia file on stage.

The crowd is already cheering under the red strobe lights crisscrossing the stage. A guy throws a shirt at Octavia and she wraps it around her wrist with a shark-like grin.

“Alright, alright, pipe down!” Bellamy speaks into the mic, a crackling sound erupting over the speakers. His guitar strap was already slung over his shoulder but he pushes it to the side. “We’ve got an announcement to make.”

Raven looks in Clarke’s direction and winks.

“You all know that we’ve done some rearranging, right? Well, I’m glad to tell you that we’ve found a singer. A fucking good one at that,” he glances at Clarke, smiling like she’d never seen him. “We love her and I’ve got a sneaking suspicion you’re gonna love her too. Come on guys, let’s make some noise for Clarke Griffin!”

The crowd erupts in cheers and Clarke can’t help a giggle that bursts from her lips.

She can do this.

Bellamy motions for her to come up and she’s unsure, she’s a mess until he reaches for her hand and helps her up. She’s still angry with him but his touch feels good, like she actually belongs there.

A loud wolf-whistle breaks the silence and she laughs again.

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t think I can live up to Bellamy’s praise but alright,” she speaks into the mic and the crowd cheers again.

Raven taps them into the intro of The Rolling Stones’ Paint it Black and when Bellamy glances at her, a questioning look in his face, she nods.

She could definitely do this.

Under the red lights, with the small but loyal crowd, and the rest of the band having fun – Clarke lets go. Her voice is loud and booming in the small bar, growing hoarser and hoarser after every song but it’s good. She isn’t a showman like Bellamy, who bounces around the stage, soaking up the attention, but she figures she isn’t bad either even if she only laughs at him through the lyrics.

The two hours pass like it’s two minutes and when they finish with the last song on the set list, Clarke is left dazed under the lights. At her right, Bellamy is thanking everyone for coming and she can hear Octavia and Raven pounding the drums just for the kicks behind her.

It’s overwhelming and it’s amazing.

She’s ushered off of the stage with Bellamy’s hand on the small of her back, and she manages a weak wave as her mind still tries to wrap itself around the idea of people liking her singing. Not in a million years could she imagine that she would be standing on a stage in front of two hundred people and having fun.

“I told you!” Raven smashes into her, still hyped from the performance. “I told you’re gonna be fucking awesome!”

They make their way towards their table where Jasper and Monty sit with matching grins and Miller is trying to fight off a tiny crowd that wants to talk to them.

“Clarke, you’re really very good,” Monty nods earnestly and she thanks him, wrapping him up in a hug.

“They loved you, Griffin,” Octavia pecks her cheek as soon as Monty lets go of her.

They are all excited and Clarke can feel the familiar surge of adrenaline when the shock wears off. Then come the drinks, beer and whiskey and vodka and whatever their hearts desire because Miller is paying. Later on, he corners Clarke and tells her that he was worried about how they’d sound – that close to filming the demo, but she was “great, much better than Roma”. Apparently, he no longer has any doubts about the album being a success.

She sincerely hopes that will be the case.

Bellamy doesn’t speak to her but it doesn’t seem like he’s ignoring her on purpose. He is cooped up with Miller and Jasper, discussing something that causes him to erupt a loud cheer after a while, and Clarke is huddled with Octavia and Raven who wax poetic about her singing skills.

The shots came and went, people come over to greet Clarke and she’s over the moon by the time alcohol finally hits her. Her whole body is tingling with a different sort of energy than restless, like a feeling finally setting in her bones – a good one, at that. The world is fuzzy at the edges and she can’t remember the last time her laughter seemed so natural, so normal and unforced.

Celebrating with alcohol also has its downsides and so she pushes her way through the crowded bar to get some air. Octavia offers to go with her but she’s already elbows-deep in flirting with Lincoln, the owner, and Clarke can’t bring herself to bother her.

So she steps out into the brisk night air and lets out a deep breath she didn’t know she’d been holding all along. The sudden relief that overcomes her leaves her breathless, again, because there is just so much of everything and she is grateful.

After months of nothing at all, the numbness that made her bones ache and her mind twist, there’s suddenly everything. The triumph of success, the joy that comes with the feeling of finally fitting in because – she does fit in. She fits in with this ragtag bunch. And she is happy.

Her dad is dead, her life is still a mess but she is happy and she is laughing and she is _feeling_.

“Fucking finally,” she breathes as she sits down on the curb between two parked cars. She can still hear the music coming from within the bar and she leans back, resting on her palms, and closes her eyes like she can soak up the atmosphere if she tries hard enough.

She doesn’t know how long she was sitting there before she feels something on her shoulders and turns around.

Bellamy is standing behind her, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. She could be angry tomorrow but she’s just blissful now. Maybe they’d fight in the garage when they start their practice but right now he drapes her leather jacket over her shoulders and she can’t help but to chuckle.

“Not gonna use it to pay the rent? I’m disappointed, Blake.”

There’s a loaded moment before he realizes that she was just joking and then he huffs, plopping down on the curb beside her.

“I would’ve brought it to you earlier, just-“

“It’s fine.”

The silence between them doesn’t feel awkward. It’s comfortable, if anything. Clarke’s gaze is trained on the night sky and the lack of stars – there were never stars in the city, only skyscrapers and lights flashing high into the air like neon, makeshift constellations.

Bellamy’s staring straight ahead, softer in the yellow light than she’d ever seen him and there are no more rough edges about him. He is just Bellamy.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” he finally speaks.

“You didn’t know, it’s fine.”

“It’s not. Octavia told me not to mess with you and I- I’m really sorry.”

She considers her question for a while before she poses it. “What _is_ your problem with me?”

“Honestly?” he asks, throwing a sidelong glance at her. Clarke nods. “Me and O, we had it rough. I’m not saying it because I want pity or anything, just - yeah. And music is our way of going through that shit. We’re angry so we sing about it. O told me you had a - uh, privileged upbringing? Not in a bad way or anything,” he hastens to add. “She never said you were a bad person. That was all me. And then she brought you to the practice and I mean, shit, Princess, you _are_ aware that your jacket _could_ pay my rent, right?”

She chuckles. She is aware of it.

“Anyways, it was stupid. It’s not like you were a snob or anything but- I’ve been treated like shit all my life by people like you,” he scrunches his nose and runs a hand through his mop of dark curls. It is probably a good time for Clarke to say something but she stays quiet. All the fight in her died out anyways. “I’m not saying you’re like them. You’re not. But I just thought you were there for the kicks, right? Teenage rebellion or something, with that brooding look and that jacket - shit, well, I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah, you were.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“I don’t blame you, though,” Clarke adds, to his surprise. “No, I don’t. I know people like me, I grew up surrounded by them. And they’re assholes. They can’t see further than their wallets and they really don’t care about anyone who wasn’t fed with a silver spoon or doesn’t meet their standards. That’s what they are. That’s not what _I_ am, though.”

She can understand him. Of course she can. It pisses her off, but she can understand it on a human level – she grew up with possibilities that weren’t there for many other kids. Even the fact that she had food on her table every day was something that must have seemed impossible to some.

“I just thought you were there because you were pissed off at mommy and daddy who didn’t understand you. Some shit like that, I’ve heard that a lot. I’m sorry I judged you straight off the bat.”

“It’s - no, actually, I totally get that,” she finally says. “But I want us to work together. And I hope that’s not going to be a problem.”

“Not at all,” he smiles.

“Good.”

They stay there for a while, sitting on the curb with cars rushing past them and the music still booming from the bar, just staring straight ahead and enjoying something that might just be a start of a beautiful truce.

 

**

Throughout the course of the next few weeks, Clarke gets more involved with the band. When she first started singing it was nothing more than a way to pass the time, a favor to Octavia. But with Saturday and Friday night gigs, with people actually getting to know her name and the crew accepting her – she got involved.

She was back to school soon enough, two months of doing absolutely nothing class-related taking its toll and so, when she wasn’t in the garage or in the bar down the road, she was piling up textbooks on her and Octavia’s kitchen table and trying to make up for the lost time.

She was getting better, and it was a long, ungrateful process that bore no fruit – but it did make her feel lighter, even if she survived on energy drinks and coffee.

The sudden realization of caring about the band came with stressing out about the album they were supposed to record in a couple of days and with her fingers itching, but not for her sketchbook that lay forgotten somewhere in her closet, but for a clean piece of paper to write down lyrics on.

Bellamy was the songwriter and he was good. They still played covers but they tried to introduce their stuff, the songs they’d be recording, and people liked them. The lyrics were angry and exasperated, kids showing how tired they were of their uncertain lives and their struggle. People could empathize with that, especially their target demographics – twenty-somethings that felt pressured into making choices they couldn’t make, either for the lack of money or for the lack of skills.

Even if he was an asshole she fought with on a daily basis, Clarke respected him. He didn’t talk a lot, at least not to her, and he was still an enigma but she knew where he was coming from.

They’re sitting in the garage, the whole band, when he looks up from his notebook, guitar nestled between his thighs, and tells them that he’s written a new song.

“I was gonna name it ‘The Coup’,” he says, suddenly shy like she’d never seen him before. Octavia nods and Raven motions for him to start playing it.

It turns out it’s heavily influenced by the French Revolution and the chorus is just repeating ‘ _Let’s stage a coup_ ’. It’s not a bad song per se, but the band has its reservations.

“You want us to get arrested?” Octavia laughs after he strikes the final chord.

“Yeah, _let’s stage a coup_ , seriously, Bellamy?” Raven rolls her eyes, perched on the armrest of Clarke’s chair. “ _That’s_ gonna get us in trouble with the state.”

Clarke – well, she actually likes it. It’s just as angry as any of their things but she can see herself singing this one more than she can see herself any of the others. It’s about social justice and how unfair the system is, and it begs for red blood to be spilled down the streets.

It’s aggressive, but it’s good.

“I like it,” she finally says and the silence that falls on the room is deafening. There’s a wry smile on Octavia’s face, but Raven looks shocked. “What, I do. I think it’s got potential.”

“Never thought you’d be the one to agree with me,” Bellamy smirks.

“What? I’m a closet anarchist.”

And she’s sort of flattered that he obviously wrote it with her singing half of it in mind.

They decide to talk it over with Miller, don’t know if it’ll make it on the album but it doesn’t matter. One day they’re gonna have a whole album with all of their songs and their dream seems close to coming true right now.

Clarke starts coming to their meetings with Miller, too. She likes him, even if he’s brooding and quiet – he doesn’t talk a whole lot, he’s not animated as the band but when he speaks it’s with a point and he doesn’t beat around the bush.

They film the demo during the weekend, just a couple of songs Bellamy’s written with Roma in his mind but Clarke fits the part so it’s good. They have fun between takes and Octavia stops them in the middle of the road afterwards with her eyes spread wide, only to whisper, “You guys, you didn’t fight today.”

They figure that’s enough to get celebratory drunk.

Bellamy is still keeping his distance, something Clarke doesn’t blame him for because she’s not exactly trying to get closer to him herself. It _is_ different after their heart-to-heart and the nickname ‘Princess’ sounds more fond than anything else, but there’s still the weight of their two opposite worlds colliding and it’s gonna take much more time to get past the initial conflicts.

It’s when she’s in the middle of her class that Clarke’s phone chirps with a new text from Bellamy (“ _Good news about the album. Come to the garage._ ”) and she’s rushing out of it as fast as she can, textbooks nearly falling out of her bag and she’s smiling because something good is about to happen and she can feel it.

She’s the first one to arrive, except for Bellamy, and she freezes as soon as she passes through the door.

The smile on Bellamy’s face is huge, all teeth and eyes crinkling in the corners. He’s looking at her like he’s about to explode with happiness and she doesn’t know what’s happened but it’s something good.

“They loved the demo, they want us to record a whole fucking album!”

She’s dropping her bag to the floor, practically running into his spread arms with a matching grin on her face even before she knows what she’s doing, and he hugs her so hard she’s lifted off of the ground in a second.

Their laughter is a booming, euphoric thing as they spin around, screaming and kicking – hands squeezing and letting go and her hair is probably tickling his noise but all she can do is smile and jump up and down.

“They want us to record the whole thing?” she finally asks, amazement coloring her voice and he nods animatedly, still smiling, bright and happy.

“Yes! Yes!”

“Holy shit!”

“We did it, Princess!”

And then they’re hugging again and she’s jumping, again, and there’s nothing but bliss and euphoria in that small garage.

She forgets that this isn’t a normal occurrence between them until Octavia and Raven run up, breathless, and see them hugging.

“Well, there’s something I thought I’d never see,” Octavia grins and it isn’t until she hears that that Clarke moves away from Bellamy, blush creeping up her cheeks and he ducks his head like he’s suddenly embarrassed.

“So, what’s the good news?”

“They loved the demo,” Clarke’s voice is small and relieved but her smile makes up for it, she figures. She looks up at Bellamy who nods. “They want us to sign on with them and record a whole album.”

“And they want us touring to promote it,” he adds.

It’s laughter and hands clapping and group hugs, slamming into Raven’s drum kit and the mic clattering to the floor with a crackling sound coming from the speaker, but they’re doing this. This is happening. The Delinquents is a real fucking band and they’re gonna record a real fucking album.

Clarke figures that’s enough to forget about everything else.

 

**

They’re back in the studio the next day, tired and weary after a long night of partying, and Miller teases them about it being too early to start behaving like rock stars. It is a true display of how close they’ve all become when they all flip him off at the same time.

It’s weird being cooped up in the studio but they’ve come to a silent agreement that they wouldn’t leave until they’ve recorded five more songs and decided on the album’s name. So they sleep on the couches in the studio, wake up with horrible cricks in their necks, but they’re grinning the whole time and nothing else quite matters.

Monty and Jasper bring food every day and Clarke soon becomes the one they tease because “You’re a doc, Clarke – how can you eat this trash?” but she can’t exactly say no to huge buckets of KFC chicken. And she’s not sure she’s ever going to become a doctor at this rate, but she studies in between takes and wakes up with her head in a textbook she’d been reading.

“So, what’re you going to do if this,” Octavia motions around them, “takes off?”

Clarke can’t say that she hadn’t thought of that because she did – she thinks a lot about her future now (hardly thinks about her dad and her former life anymore) – but she still doesn’t have a plan. Because, what is going to happen if they actually make it? There are thousands of bands who are trying to get their big break every day and it’s a competitive field but it looks like The Delinquents may stand a chance.

She shrugs because she’s pretty sure that she’d choose the band.

“I thought about pausing a year or something,” she finally says and Octavia is visibly relieved. “What, you thought I was gonna bail on you? _Never_.”

“No, it’s not -“the brunette worries her lip and Clarke stills, “ _I_ never thought you’d leave us. But Bell did and - we know how much school means to you. We’d never make you choose.”

“Yeah, well, Bellamy probably still thinks I’m doing this to spite my parents so-“Clarke says it like a joke but Octavia gets very serious very fast. That’s the thing with her, she can be a ball of joy and enthusiasm one second, and then she’s twenty years older the other.

“He doesn’t, Bell - I know he was an asshole to you when we first started this but he respects you now. Seriously, Clarke, you-“she stops to chuckle, “he’s in love with your singing capabilities.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Clarke hums and returns to her textbook, highlighting a passage about carotids.

“Yeah, yeah, you keep saying that, but he’s gonna ask you to marry him any day now.”

They leave it at that, Octavia leaving to bother Jasper about something, but her words stick with Clarke. She and Bellamy – well, they’re forming something what may seem like friendship, but it’s a tentative one at best. They’re still awkward around each other, walking on eggshells and trying to find a balance.

It’s different when they’re playing – it’s easier to forget about everything with music. But when they’re not and they actually have to talk to each other – yeah, that’s a whole another mess. Clarke doesn’t care, not exactly – she wouldn’t drink the glass of water if Bellamy was on fire, but she wouldn’t go out of her way to help him.

What finally fucks her up is when Octavia falls asleep on the floor of the studio, curled up in a corner after a particularly long session. Clarke is dozing off in an armchair but she sees Bellamy lift Octavia up, and he carries her to the sofa, drapes his jacket around her shoulders and tucks a stray piece of her hair behind her ear.

It’s very unlike him, the softness of his movements and the gentleness he displays when he thinks no one can see him and when he’s with Octavia. He seems polite at his best, when he’s really trying to, but this is something completely different and Clarke realizes that he, Bellamy Blake, is actually human.

He’s just trying very hard to come off as an asshole.

Clarke thinks about clearing her throat and confronting him about it but she figures she’d let him have this one. He, in his own weird way, deserves it.

 

When they’re done recording and they’ve all taken a shower, they meet up in the garage again. A good night’s sleep can’t fix five days of being in the studio but they look better and Miller brought shitloads of coffee so they’re sitting in a circle and trying to come up with a name for the album.

“Can’t we just name it after ourselves?” Octavia asks, exasperated after her fifth suggestion is shot down and no one has anything better to offer.

Bellamy rolls his eyes, “Yeah, and create a mix-up? I don’t think so, O.”

“Name it after a song?” Raven suggests. This time, Miller’s the one to decline.

They sit in silence, sipping their coffees and avoiding each other’s gazes. And then it dawns on Clarke and she shoots up from her seat.

“You said we could name it whatever the hell we wanted, right, Bellamy?” she asks and he nods, albeit confused. “So let’s do that. Let’s do exactly that!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, let’s name the album _Whatever the Hell We Want_.”

Bellamy stares at her, something inexplicable in his eyes, and it lasts so long that she thinks about sitting down and apologizing. And then – then he grins and it’s like a boulder rolled off of her shoulders.

“That’s fucking brilliant, Princess.”

Raven nods, too. “I can get behind that that. All in favor?”

It’s a unanimous vote and Clarke can’t get the grin off of her face for the rest of the week.

 

**

Clarke finally meets Roma Carruthers after the band played its last gig in Grounders before the tour. The first thing she notices about the girl, the woman really, is how gorgeous she is. Her legs stretch for miles in her miniskirt and there is something wild and beautiful about her.

She’s polite to Clarke, they exchange a few brief sentences before Octavia ushers her to the bar, but there’s distinguishable hostility in the air between them. Roma is witty and sarcastic, her eyes are sharp and calculating and she definitely fits the band more than Clarke ever could.

It doesn’t help that Bellamy is flustered when he sees her and later on, the way the two of them flirt is nearly obscene. Clarke is thankful for Octavia who slides a whiskey her way.

“So, that’s the infamous Roma?” Clarke asks, voice hoarse from screaming onstage. Her throat is going to hurt like a bitch but they wanted to go all out, one last hoorah before they go on tour.

“Yup,” Octavia confirms, popping the ‘p’ very soundly as she takes a long sip of her beer. “She’s a bitch.”

“What happened with her, anyways? Why’d she leave?”

Clarke knows bits and pieces, she managed to scrape them into a very unfinished whole but no one told her the official story. She knows how Bellamy sounded that first day, resentment clear in his voice as he told Octavia that Roma left. But it doesn’t make sense with what Clarke is seeing right now – Bellamy’s arm draped around Roma’s waist as she whispers into his ear.

Octavia uneasily shifts on the stool. “Is ‘because she’s a bitch’ an explanation?”

“No, O, it isn’t.”

Octavia lets out an exasperated sigh and considers it for a moment before speaking up, “I thought Bell would tell you the whole story but - it doesn’t look like he’s going to, so – fine.”

She takes another sip before continuing.

“Roma and Bell actually started the whole thing. They were dating for some time before he decided to form a band and she was automatically invited. She was never that interested but we let it slide because – she was Bell’s girlfriend, right? We couldn’t exactly tell her to fuck off.”

Octavia chuckles and Clarke raises her eyebrows. It’s not exactly a chuckling kind of conversation they’re having.

“Raven did, though. She told her to fuck off because - Roma is a bitch. I’m not saying it because she dumped Bell and skipped off with some actor or something,” she winces like the thought disgusts her, “but because she was. Is. Whatever. She was a good singer, had fun doing it, but she wasn’t here for the long run. I can’t count the times we had to postpone practice because,” Octavia makes air quotes with her fingers, “Roma wasn’t feeling well. But she was feeling well enough to get drunk with us later, apparently. It went like that for some time and Bell wasn’t exactly thrilled, I mean – we were pissed basically from the start but he was doing okay. And then, when Miller told us about the demo, she just came to the garage and shrugged. She. Fucking. _Shrugged_.”

Octavia looked both bitter and disgusted and Clarke couldn’t blame her. She knew how much the band meant to them and to have someone shrug – well, that was unforgivable.

“That’s when we all freaked out and Bell – well, he asked her if she wanted to do it. Be in the band. Like, long-term. And she said that it wasn’t even an option for her. There was a huge fight, she told everyone fuck off and when Bell went to look for her later, he found her making out with a guy. I mean – _they_ didn’t break up. But she thought they did,” she snorts. “After that, well, Bell was pretty much drunk all the time, Raven stormed out of rehearsal twenty times and I really, really thought we were over. And then you came.”

With that, she beams at Clarke. “You’re amazing, Clarke. Really. And thanks for doing this.”

It feels weird that Octavia would thank her because she was just as invested in the band as any of them. Earlier that day, she’d filed the paperwork for pausing the year and called her mother to inform her of her plans. Abby wasn’t thrilled but she came to terms with it when Clarke told her that this was the happiest she’d felt in months. The best thing was that she wasn’t even lying.

She is happy, even when they are crammed in the studio and when she and Bellamy fight over every little thing. She is happy with the ragtag bunch, with Jasper’s stupid jokes and Miller and Monty’s inept flirting. It makes her laugh, it sometimes makes her want to cry in frustration, but it feels like a makeshift family.

And Clarke loved her makeshift family.

“Thank you for giving me the opportunity. And I should probably say thanks to the rest of the crew for accepting me. It’s – this is really good for me, O. I love it here, I love it with you guys and I don’t care what happens tomorrow, you are my people. And I’m staying.”

Octavia squeals in delight and if she knocks down her beer as she scrambles to hug Clarke, she doesn’t care. This is the first time Clarke said something like that, but she’d been meaning to for quite a while. Even through her ups and downs, she grew fond of the band – of the whole bunch, really.

With Raven, they get ceremoniously drunk. If Clarke drinks a bit more after seeing Bellamy with Roma’s tongue down his throat and his hands on her ass, well, no one really knows the real reason.

And if she doesn’t want to open the door to her and O’s apartment when she hears knocking at the crack of dawn, knowing full well who will be standing on the other side, no one has to know. Because she does open the door and she does catch Bellamy when he stumbles forward, drunk out of his mind.

What she doesn’t do is stay when Octavia rushes out of her room and curls herself around Bellamy, begging him to tell her what’s wrong. She doesn’t stay even when his eyes meet hers and the amount of desperation she finds in them makes her breath catch in her throat.

Clarke leaves, closes the door behind her, because staying with them meant that she would have to think about why her stomach clenched when she saw him with Roma, and why it never felt as twisted when she saw him with someone else.

She twists and turns in her bed, rumples the covers and throws them to the floor to the tune of muffled sobbing coming from the living room. They are her people, the whole crew, and that included Bellamy. It had to include him, otherwise it wouldn’t have mattered.

She grits her teeth and opens the door, meeting Octavia’s eyes.

“I’ll get coffee.”

It is five am and no one will go to sleep but there is nothing else she can do. It doesn’t even matter that her stomach plummets when she hears Bellamy choke out “She did it again, she left me again.” Her fingers go white clutching the counter as coffee dripped into the cups, and there is nothing in her mind except a very clear question – when was she even allowed to return?

It makes sense that Clarke would replay the scene from the bar once she stepped out of her room but this time, this time she braves it through. The feeling of her gut twisting at the sight of his hands on Roma’s waist, a horrible sinking feeling when she whispered something into Bellamy’s ear and they took off in the direction of bathrooms.

It makes perfect sense, even if Clarke can’t explain it. It makes perfect sense to be afraid because Bellamy likes Roma. Bellamy is probably still in love with Roma and if it comes to that, Clarke will be the one kicked out. She is replaceable, mostly because she _is_ a replacement.

The replacement strides into her living room and settles into the ugly mustard-yellow armchair, handing Octavia and Bellamy their respective cups of coffee. They are both tired, Octavia from fighting her brother and from fighting herself because she can’t do this to him – she has to be there for him. If the Blakes are anything, they are loyal. Two kids left to fend for themselves and dear God, look how they thrived.

But Bellamy, Bellamy is a wreck. Clarke thinks that he would normally be opposed to her seeing him like that, devastated and choking back the sobs that would sooner or later spill from his mouth. But now, now he looks through her like she’s not even there when he can’t stare at Octavia anymore.

Clarke feels like she an impostor in the scene. There are the siblings, curled around each other on the couch, Bellamy’s head on Octavia’s shoulder as she cards her fingers through his hair and whispers that everything will be alright, and then there is Clarke. Out of place, out of time, out of touch.

Was this how she looked after her dad died? Did she look like she crashed into an iceberg and wanted to drown? Or did she look worse?

She doesn’t know when she puts her coffee on the table and joins them, plopping down to Bellamy’s left. Octavia is confused when she looks at her but she just shakes her head and takes his hand into hers.

Clarke knows a lot of things but sadness – sadness she knows best.

“I’ll make you toast, okay? You want strawberry or orange jam?”

His voice is small and he looks fragile when he finally speaks. “Strawberry.”

Octavia looks at Clarke with eyes full of gratitude and she nods at her friend, turns and leaves for the kitchen. She burns the pieces of toast a bit but she slathers strawberry jam onto them and figures that it’s better than nothing.

She needs to talk Bellamy into eating while Octavia shoves her food into her mouth. No one feels like eating but they have to. It’s the only thing they can do not to collapse. And this is a storm and storms drain you.

“Was that good?” she addresses him like a child, has to stop herself from patting his hand like he is one, and he nods. “Good. Let’s get you into the shower.”

Octavia helps her get him up and the three of them stumble towards the bathroom. Bellamy isn’t drunk anymore but he is exhausted – that sort of thing wears you down and she knows, Clarke knows, so she doesn’t say anything when he ducks his head, slightly embarrassed, when they have to help him get his clothes off and get him into the shower.

She leaves after Octavia assures her that she can handle it, and Clarke stands in the hallway, listening to the distant sound of the shower, staring at the discolored tile on the floor and she wonders how they got like this. How they all found each other like fucking disasters and slammed into each other to form a family.

How is it that, after only a few months, she can be sure when she says that she would do anything for them because they are her people?

It’s both a miracle and a curse, she realizes when they help Bellamy get dressed again and lay him down in Octavia’s bed. He falls asleep seconds after and they don’t say anything, just exchange brief glances and leave for the kitchen.

Octavia is still in her bathrobe, even if the clock is slowly ticking away six thirty, and she doesn’t say anything until they’re at the table. She slumps into her chair and lets out a choked cry, half-whisper, and half-shout.

“What a fucking idiot,” she finally says, wrapping her fingers around her steaming cup of coffee Clarke took time to make. “She’s gone and done it again.”

“Roma?”

“Yeah, fucking Roma. You’d think she’s his kryptonite or something except - Superman wasn’t an idiot. And Bell is.”

Clarke can’t help but to chuckle. After all of that, after hearing him cry and moan, and Octavia doing her best to calm him down – everything else is less tragic, more comic. They’ve been through the worst.

“I mean, I saw him with her last night,” Octavia reasons, shaking her head at her cup, “but he’s a grown ass man, I can’t - shit, well, I should’ve told him something.”

“He wouldn’t have listened to you, O, you know that.”

“Yeah, but he’s good coming to my door and crying, right?” she’s trying to sound angry but all she manages to do is tired of the fight they must’ve been having for as long as Roma was present. Clarke covers her hand with her own and squeezes. “It’s- it’s so Bell, shit. He’s trying to be an asshole who doesn’t believe in people but he does and there it is.”

“That’s brave.”

“That’s _stupid_ ,” the brunette hisses and then it looks like she’s just given up on him. “Whatever. I don’t even – ugh, I can’t not care. But he knows better than to go with her when she tells him she wants him. Yeah, that’s what she told him and he had to go and fuck her again. And now - you know why he’s wrecked?”

Clarke shakes her head.

“Because he thought that meant she wanted him back. She. Wanted. Him. Back! Shit, like, what even if she did want him back? Like that matters now!”

“Fucking Roma, man,” Clarke tries and manages to get a laugh out of Octavia. It sounds weighed down but it’s something.

“Fucking Roma. She gets what she wants, Bell’s supposed to know that. And that sure as hell doesn’t mean she’s keeping him. So, hear this – she gets what she wants, Bell to fuck her, apparently,” Octavia’s mouth twists into a sneer, “and then she looks surprised when he asks her when he’s going to see her again. She told him that he’s not going to be seeing her and where the hell did he get that idea?”

Clarke doesn’t know Roma very well, doesn’t know her at all but she sounds cruel. Like a person Bellamy Blake would definitely fall for.

She doesn’t say that. She just says, “Wow.”

“Yeah. But I swear to God, Clarke,” Octavia leans forward and bores into Clarke’s eyes with an intense stare, “if he fucks up the band because he’s a jerk – that’s it. We’re finding another singer and he can keep hooking up with Roma.”

“O-“

“No, don’t you O me! He’d better get up after he’s had enough sleep and he’d better be ready to paint the fucking van or I. Am. Kicking. His. Ass.”

“That’s not really fair, O.”

When did she start standing up for Bellamy?

“Clarke, you haven’t seen him the first time around. Bellamy being wrecked nearly wrecked the band and this time - we’re too close to actually doing something to let him fuck it up. We’ve been fighting for this our whole lives, we wanted our voices to be heard and we talked about-“she smiles a private little smile, and Clarke wonders if she’s aware of how much she looks like Bellamy sometimes, „we talked about being famous, what we would do then. We didn’t know shit, but we wanted to use our voices to make a change if we could. This was about music but it was about so much more. And it fucking sucks that he’d drop it over _Roma_.”

Clarke knows that they live in a shitty world, world of prejudices and instilled privilege for chosen ones. She knows it’s not fair and she knows that many lives go to hell on a daily basis because not everyone’s voice is heard. But if there is only one, even that of an angry band, if it booms loud and if someone, anyone, hears it and understands it – it’s hope.

She nods because she’s here for that. She’s here for her people and she’s here for trying to change the world. And they’re young enough to be idealistic enough to succeed.

Octavia leaves for work around eight and Clarke is alone in her apartment with Bellamy. And she knows she has to get him up and running because Bellamy is not the whole band, but he is a big enough part to matter.

And he is her people.

She wakes him up around ten, has to drag the covers off of him as he grunts and shoves his face into Octavia’s pillow.

“Come on, up!”

“Five more minutes,” he groans. Clarke pinches his calf enough for him to yell. “What the fuck!?”

“O is going to kill you if you’re not up. So, get up. I’ll get you Advil and coffee but you need to physically get up.”

He eyes her for a moment or two but she doesn’t budge, hoping her gaze is as steely as she wants it to be.

“Fine.”

It’s a small victory but it’s still a victory.

Bellamy looks well enough when he makes it to the kitchen. Sure, the circles under his eyes are nearly pitch black and his hair is mussed from sleep but he looks better than last night.

She hands him the coffee and the promised Advil, both of which he gulps down in a second.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, well - I’m doing it for the band.”

He smirks at her words but doesn’t say anything as she makes him another cup of coffee. She can see pain and anger flashing across his face as he stares off into distance and she knows he’s remembering what happened.

“Don’t,” she warns. He frowns at her. “Don’t think about it. It’s only going to make you feel worse and I’d like to think that O and I made some progress yesterday.”

“You- yeah,” he rakes his fingers through his hair and pulls, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. His cheeks grow red and Clarke wants to laugh, like she does every time he looks embarrassed or shy, “thanks for doing that.”

She hums in response, orders him to get something to eat and leaves to get dressed herself. They have a long day ahead and the van is not going to paint itself.

 

**

 

When they arrive to the garage, the scene in front of them is somewhat different than Clarke has gotten used to. Monty and Jasper are sitting in the driveway, phones in hand as they tap away and exchange serious murmurs. Raven is hovering above them, her hands braced on her knees as she makes vague suggestions with a frown in her brow.

By all means, something has obviously happened and Clarke exchanges a brief glance with Bellamy before they plop down on the driveway as well. The van, an ugly scraped white thing that’s going to make them work hard to get it to look good, is parked and forgotten.

“What’s going on?” she finally asks, when it becomes clear than no one is going to acknowledge them.

Monty flinches, surprised, like he didn’t see her sitting down next to him, and then he grins.

“So, guess what?”

“What?”

Jasper briefly cuts in before he lowers his head again and taps away furiously at his phone, “Oh, you’re gonna love this.”

“Cut the crap and just tell us,” Bellamy rolls his eyes at the duo. Jasper mutters something under his breath and he cuffs him upside the head.

“The Delinquents are going viral. Buzzfeed wrote an article about you guys,” Monty exclaims and then huffs when Clarke just stares. “Buzzfeed? You know, the ultra-mainstream site everyone and their grandmothers are reading?”

“Um-“

“Wow, you’re old.”

Clarke pokes him in the chest. She likes Monty but she’s going to poke him for as long as she needs to for him to get to the point. “ _Monty_.”

“Fine, fine. Well, Jasper uploaded a couple of vids of your gigs and I may or may not have suggested the one with Bellamy’s monologue,” he blushes like a kid stealing candy and Clarke has to suppress a giggle. “They like you. The internet _likes_ you.”

He hands Clarke his phone and she beckons Bellamy over, the two of them huddling around the screen of Monty’s phone. The article or – is it really an article if it consists of ten sentences and a bunch of kitten-rolling-around gifs? – is titled “ _Punk is not dead_ ” and the author is mostly waxing poetic about how much Bellamy is in the right with his talk about systematic privilege.

“Hear this, ‘ _the author and songwriter, Bellamy Blake, is passionate about the band’s causes and it’s more often than not that their fans have the opportunity of hearing and reading about it. The Delinquents, despite being a relatively new and unknown band, have managed to accumulate enough fans to get three thousand followers on Twitter and people who are religious about attending their gigs_ ’,” Clarke reads out, much to Bellamy’s amusement. She continues after shushing Raven, who thinks she’s in the clear. “You think you’re spared, Reyes? Pfff! ‘ _But Blake Senior is not the only interesting figure in the band. The band has their own genius, a superstar-out-of-MIT mechanic, Raven Reyes. The girl is pretty and twice as smart and she plays the hell out of her drums_ ’,” Raven huffs but she can’t keep the satisfied grin off her face.

“There’s stuff about O and Clarke, too,” Bellamy smiles, shoving Clarke lightly aside to scroll down the page. “Guys, this is _great_.”

Jasper nods, finally clicking his phone shut. “Our twitter feed is _blowing up_. You’ve got a hashtag and everything.”

“A hashtag?” Bellamy asks in mock-surprise. “Wow!”

“Shut up, Blake,” Raven rolls her eyes. “This is how the kids do it these days. You don’t have a hashtag, you don’t exist. Right, Jas?”

He nods, “And they want a Q&A and they wanna know where they can listen to you and get the album and-“

“Jasper,” Clarke sets her hand on his shoulder, “breathe.”

She makes him take a couple of deep breaths before allowing him to continue. She understands the excitement, she is over the moon herself but that doesn’t mean that they can allow themselves to forget about everything else. They still need to get this van up and running.

But if they can spare an hour for joy, there’s nothing wrong with it. And Bellamy looks genuinely ecstatic, a far cry from his previous desperation. It shouldn’t warm Clarke’s heart but it kind of does, and she’s happy he’s feeling better.

“So obviously, we have to go on tour with you. Monty’s got his camera, we can vlog it and post pics on Instagram because I don’t trust you _elders_ ,” he narrows his eyes at Bellamy and Clarke, “to update it regularly.”

“Can’t we just play?” Bellamy offers. When the rest of the crew looks at him with matching glares, he throws his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, forget I asked.”

“There’s this really cool thing called social media marketing, Bellamy,” Monty interjects. “Thank God we have Raven and Octavia. Otherwise this band would go to hell.”

“Thanks, Mont. Love you too,” Bellamy sends him a kiss and Monty pretends to be flustered.

When Octavia arrives, she looks like she’s ready to march into battle. Her black eyeliner looks more like war paint than makeup and she is prepared to fight Bellamy. But when she sees all of them laughing, grouped around Jasper and his phone, and Bellamy grinning – she freezes in the driveway with a confused look in her face.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Come hither, the one and only, warrior-like Octavia Blake, the best bass player of the century,” Raven grins, waving her over.

“What?”

“What what? Buzzfeed’s complimenting you. I’ve been told that’s a good thing,” Clarke says, grinning from her place in the pile.

“Buzzfeed?” Octavia shouts, “Buzzfeed wrote that about me!?”

And then she’s shoving her way into the group, ending up in Jasper’s lap and stealing his phone to see for herself. For a while, no one says anything as they watch emotions mix on her face – first surprise, then glee and finally – tears?

“Holy shit.”

Bellamy grabs her hand as soon as he notices that she’s crying, “O, what’s wrong?”

“It’s- nothing’s wrong,” she squeezes out, “It’s great. We’re – Bell, we’re actually doing this.”

The rest of the group looks visibly relieved and something warm seems to unfurl in Clarke’s chest as she leans over Monty to hug her best friend. Bellamy soon joins in, and then the rest of them make their way into the hug until they’re all sandwiched and tangled and happy.

It’s a weird bunch, it is. Raven works at MIT and all the praises Buzzfeed could have written wouldn’t be enough to fully demonstrate her talent as a mechanic. Bellamy works in the library and when he’s not playing, he’s writing his Ph.D. thesis on the downfall of Ancient Rome or something equally boring. Fascinating to him, though. Octavia would major in jack of all trades if she could, but she’s taking one step at a time in community college. Still, she’s street smart and fierce and wonderful. There is no one Clarke could ever be as easily loyal to as she is to Octavia. Monty is in IT, but that doesn’t even begin to explain it – if anyone could hack into Pentagon, he could. He’s a total sweetheart, though. Jasper, on the other hand, kind of does everything. He and Monty brew their own liquor, probably grow their own plants for – ahem, relaxation purposes, and he’s a genius when it comes to marketing and communications. Really funny, too. And Miller, Miller is their lucky break – no one knows what he actually does, but it’s amazing that a cop’s kid has so many connections. They don’t question it, though – they’re just eternally grateful for him.

And that’s the bunch, that’s the family assembled around Clarke as they come up with a plan. The van is still sitting there and Clarke eyes it from time to time, the disaster – taking it to herself to make it look like a tour van should.

“So, Monty and Jas are coming with us, right?” Raven asks, scrunching her nose at her notepad. For a mechanic, she’s surprisingly not reliant on technology when it comes to making lists. Clarke secretly thinks she’s really aware there’s a huge chance for a robot uprising to occur.

“Yep,” Octavia confirms, carding her hands through Jasper’s hair and giggling every time she hits his goggles, “that’s the plan, if you guys can make it.”

“We can,” Monty enthusiastically nods. “We should be done with classes by the time we leave.”

“Great. Clarke, Bellamy, you good?”

“Yeah, I’m pausing the year or whatever,” Clarke makes a dismissive motion with her hand. She’s not sure if she’s ever going to un-pause it but this works.

Bellamy grins next to her, “I can write my thesis on the road.”

This elicits a groan from the whole group. Their knowledge of Bellamy’s thesis-related ramblings is more intimate than it should be. It usually includes cursing Plato, the rest of classics society and the whole world.

“Please, no,” Raven begs, disgusted. “I’ll _pay_ you not to.”

“I don’t think it’s in our budget,” Bellamy sticks his tongue out at her, only for Raven to groan again.

“What _is_ our budget anyways?”

“Miller’s taking care of that. And the company we signed with. From what I know, we get motel rooms when we’re playing a gig somewhere and they’re paying for the gas. The rest is on us,” he explains, shrugging. It’s not ideal, they know that, but it’s much better than they had expected.

Raven seems to agree with him, despite the crease between her brows. “We’ll manage.”

“We always do. And now, let’s get to work,” Octavia announces, picking herself up and dusting the dirt from her jeans. Clarke takes her hand, stands up too, and soon enough, the rest of the gang is on their feet and ready to get tasks.

Monty and Jasper clean out the inside of the van and the amount of space actually surprises Clarke. She was wary of whether all of their equipment will fit but it looks like that shouldn’t be a problem, and there’s enough room for all of them to sit.

Raven pops the hood and from there on, she’s lost to the world. It sounds like she’s fighting with the engine and she curses in Spanish and English simultaneously but if anyone can get the van running – she can.

Octavia mostly bosses them around, hands on her hips and shouting out tasks. When she notices Bellamy and Clarke exchanging slightly frightened looks, she tasks them with painting duty.

“You want a whip, O?” Clarke teases. “It’d go with your dictator persona.”

“You wanna sit on the roof during the tour, Clarke? No? Didn’t think so.”

Clarke is actually okay with painting the van. She brought stencils and enough cans of spray to redo the whole mess, but she turns to Bellamy for ideas. They figure it’d be good if they repaint the van black and then just write ‘The Delinquents’ along the sides, ‘Whatever The Hell We Want’ on the back door and the hood.

If she draws an anarchy sign or two, well, that’s purely for aesthetic purposes.

At the end of the day, it looks much better. It’s still not polished to perfection but Raven promises it won’t break down (and if it does – she’s bringing her toolkit) and the red and black color scheme fits their band. Seeing their name written on the sides makes the whole group stop and stare for a while.

It’s coming true, Clarke realizes. It’s coming true and they are doing this. Clarke is happy doing this, and it’s weird that the word happy means so much to her these days. Months ago, she would have gone for peaceful – she’d have given everything for a peace of mind, and now not only she has that – she has a family, she has something she’d worked hard to achieve and it’s bliss.

Her father would have been proud. Her mother was always the one pushing her to her limits, over them, and Clarke knows it was never because she hated her or she was overly ambitious. She wanted the best for Clarke. But the best for Clarke to Clarke’s father was seeing her happy. And this right there, the van, the tour – Jake Griffin would have been so proud of her.

So if she cries a little, masking the sniffles as a cough, it doesn’t matter. They’re all a wreck, but in a beautiful way.

She feels Bellamy’s presence at her side, closer than he ever would have been before the night they just had. He takes her hand in his and she squeezes it. Maybe they have a shit ton of plans they have to go through but right now – it doesn’t matter.

“I’m glad you stayed,” he whispers into her ear, quiet enough for no one else to overhear, and she sniffles again, nodding as she watches the repainted side and the name of their band in big, bold red letters standing out against the night.

“Me too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The thing is, Bellamy knows that he’d fucked up. He knows it because things are going great, everyone’s having fun despite taking showers in bathrooms of shady gas stations and sleeping sprawled on top of each other and the equipment in the back of the van, but Clarke still tenses when it’s her turn to sit next to him in the front seat.

He knows how to fix sprained ankles, he knows how to braid Octavia’s hair, he knows how to write really good songs but – he doesn’t know how to fix _this_.

He and Clarke got off to a bad start, that much he’s sure of. It’s not a problem to admit that – he did, to Octavia, and he apologized to Clarke but he supposes that once you accuse someone of being a spoiled, privileged brat and mention their dead father – it’s kind of hard to go forward from there.

They did try, they did get better around each other and she didn’t drop his hand when he took it in a moment of reckless abandon, seeing the band’s name on the van they painted, overcome with emotions, but they can’t find the amount of comfort they have with everyone else.

For example, Bellamy sees Clarke lay on Raven or Monty, her head tucked into the crooks of their necks – she’s a pro at sleeping in any kind of weird setting, and her laughter with the rest of the group is bubbly and bright and he swears she could set the whole continent on fire with it alone. When she’s with him, though, she’s contained, hesitant. She’ll laugh if he says something funny but it’s just not the same.

He was an asshole and maybe it serves him right but he just wants to make her comfortable. They are, after all, in this together and, if they’re lucky, they will be for many more years.

They’re a couple of miles from Richmond when Octavia wakes up and leans on his headrest, groaning. She’s the worst in the mornings but it’s still cute. She’s his baby sister, a wicked bass player and there’s no one else he’d rather have on this trip.

“Jeez, Bell, you think we could stop for coffee?”

“Can’t you wait till Richmond?”

He’s been driving all through the night, even if Clarke volunteered to replace him, and it’s kind of frightening how much he wants and needs coffee. Why he protests is beyond him.

“Absolutely not because you’ll just drag us to some museum and then we’ll get no coffee and you know we’re playing tonight.”

“O-“

Clarke shifts on the seat next to his, her sketchbook lying forgotten in her lap. She does that too, she’s an artist even if no one dares to ask her what’s she working on. It’s a private thing for her and everyone respects that.

“See, Clarke needs coffee too!” Octavia gestures towards her, and she flutters her eyelids open.

She’s beautiful like that, in the early morning when sleep is clouding her mind and she doesn’t have the strength to fix her steely gaze on him. He knows the defenses she puts up, but he’s glad to see that she’s laughing more than she did when she first joined them. Somewhere between their first fight and this tour they’re on, Octavia told him that her dad died in a car accident and that, for a while, she wasn’t sure whether Clarke would pull through.

Now, seeing her smile at Octavia, it’s hard to remember the dazed look she had when she first sang in front of him. In all honesty, that look was one of the reasons why he thought she was there for the kicks. She certainly fit the part, blonde, princess-like, glassed-over eyes like she’s high on something and she just wants to show her mommy and daddy that she can rebel.

He should have known better. 

“Yeah, um- Bellamy, would you mind stopping?”

He makes a show of rolling his eyes, but switches the turn signal on. They pull up into a diner parking lot, in front of the old building that actually has a retro flair to it. It screams linoleum floors and a plump waitress addressing him with ‘sweetheart’.

The group files out of the van, jumping down on the pavement and stretching as soon as their legs touch the ground. They’ve been driving for over twelve hours, made a few stops, and he knows that they are all looking forward to a real bed after the gig tonight.

They’re still dazed and confused as they settle themselves into a booth, Bellamy sliding in next to Octavia. His sister is leaning on Raven and they’re talking in hushed tones, God knows about what, but Bellamy sees Clarke dozing off on Jasper’s shoulder as the boy taps away at his phone and he tries to be as quiet as possible when the waitress comes to take their order.

“Can we get some coffee?”

The woman, and she is plump and cheery-looking, that sort of person that always looks like a mother. She smiles at him after surveying the rest of the group, “You’re gonna need a lot more than some.”

He nods and thanks her, and it isn’t until everyone has a solid mug-worth of coffee in their system that they begin talking.

“Any news from Miller?” he asks Jasper who nods, holding up a hand.

“Sorry- had to write a tweet about where you’re playing tonight. And yeah, Miller’s got you a gig on a festival in New York. It’s nothing big but it’s totally gonna help.”

“Yeah, very hipster and stuff,” Monty adds helpfully.

Raven frowns. “Hipster?”

“Well, sure,” Clarke joins in, shrugging, “it’s not our usual scene but why not?”

Bellamy has to agree with her. Any sort of marketing is still marketing and he figures that punk is hipster-y enough these days. But he’d die before he says that out loud – he likes the reputation of an old fart he has. Jasper would probably faint if he knew Bellamy knows what a hipster is.

So he nods, smiling at Clarke. She’s different - more aware and her eyes are growing more intense with every second that passes. She’s good for the band, but not only because she’s a ridiculously great singer but because she cares.

He was worried that she’d leave because - she’s from a different world. Octavia and Bellamy got used to sleeping on the road, they did that more than they’d care to admit – spending one whole year in that same van, going from town to town while he looked for someone who’d employ a twenty-two year old high school dropout and she studied to catch up even if she couldn’t go to school.

It’s different now, but they’ve gotten used to it. He finished high school, she did too, and he’s working on his thesis while she’s trying to figure out what it is that she wants to do. But Clarke Griffin is not like them and she looks like she’s used to sleeping in a thousand dollar sheets and not on the streets.

Still, she’s the one to cheer them up when they’ve had enough of driving and just want to settle down somewhere and sleep for twenty hours in a row. She’s the one with stupid jokes he scoffs at but she forgets herself and smirks at him because she knows he finds it funny but he’s too proud to admit it.

Bellamy is silently thankful for Clarke, even if they’re still not as close as he’d like them to be but it’s enough to know that she feels at home here, just like he does, and she’s in this for the long run.

“Bell!”

He snaps his head and realizes that the rest of them are staring at him.

“Did you tap out again?”

“Yeah- sure, sorry,” he shoots Octavia an apologetic look and she laughs.

“We were talking about going to the motel and sleeping until tonight. You game?”

“Fuck yes,” he blurts out, breathless, much to everyone’s amusement.

Sure, they’re rock stars but they do need their beauty sleep.

 

**

The crowd that welcomes them in a bar in Richmond surprises everyone but Jasper and Monty. There are loads of people, as much as can be cramped in the relatively small space – four, five hundred – they’re not sure. Raven’s first reaction is to say “What the ever-loving fuck” and Bellamy agrees with her.

They have fans, they have had fans for a long time, but it was a relatively small and obscure group of young people who liked their covers. But this right there, these are people who have come to listen to their original stuff – and they are only from Richmond.

“Oh, you guys are surprised?” Jasper asks, smug little bastard, tapping at his phone almost constantly. “I did tweet you were coming here.”

“Jas!” Raven nudges his shoulder with hers. “Seriously?”

“I’m not even kidding. And just wait for Atlanta, _that’s_ gonna be wild.”

An audience forms around them, people whispering and nudging each other – saying “It’s them, it’s them”. Octavia seems to lap up the attention, snapping her head towards the crowd and getting out a pen to sign whatever they want her to. Bellamy hears her joking around but she thanks every single person for coming out here and he just knows that his little sister is a natural.

Raven takes after her, and soon Clarke is with them, too. Bellamy isn’t sure but he swears Clarke just signed someone’s collarbone. Not that he thinks there’s anything wrong with that, Clarke is – well, objectively – she’s really hot and she’s a damn good singer.

But he is surprised when he joins them, Jasper shoving him towards the rest of the band and snapping him from his daze, and the crowd goes wild. It isn’t thousands of people but it’s a lot. He’s pretty sure they’d make a really efficient army if they decide to stage a coup.

Not that they will. Just food for thought.

 “What a crowd, huh?” he murmurs, standing next to Raven who grins in return, sliding a shot glass his way. “You sure about that? We’re playing in a couple of minutes.”

“C’mon, big brother, live a little,” Octavia winks as she downs another shot and he figures – what the hell. They love The Delinquents already.

The performance goes great, even if they’re all a little tipsy. The crowd goes wild as Raven begins her drums solo at the beginning of _The Coup_ and Bellamy can’t help himself from egging the crowd on, only for raucous cheers to erupt.

Clarke’s smiling like he’d never seen her smile when they get close to each other for the ending of _Spacewalker_ and they scream in each other’s faces, Octavia’s bass loud and growing louder every minute until there’s nothing but music and Clarke’s mouth inches from him.

It’s fucking magic, every time they get on stage. They’re still the same nerds, as Raven lovingly says, but it’s a completely different atmosphere. The stakes are higher, the lights are brighter and it’s like hellfire blazes through them. He swears his voice should break from all the singing he does but neither he nor Clarke look tired when the first riffs begin and then there is no space for fatigue, just the burning passion threatening to swallow them whole.

And Bellamy, he’s always in love with her when they’re on stage. The blue in her eyes is so light and so furious, he can see the vein in her neck popping as every muscle in her body tenses to get a good performance, and she’s passion and storms and absolutely everything and nothing at all, in that time and space that exists only after he and Octavia strum their guitars and Raven’s smile turns shark-like.

Only then does Clarke feel so real he could kiss her.

But he never does, instead choosing to enjoy the sensation of the whole stage vibrating and their voices bouncing off walls, perfect synergy they manage just there but never in the van, never when they’re not playing.

They finish playing as Raven throws her sticks into the crowd and laughter bursts from Octavia’s lips. They’re on an adrenaline high when they wave at the crowd, drenched with sweat and sore, but they shove each other and hug each other and mostly just shuffle around, restless energy overtaking them.

If he loves the performance, Bellamy loves the afterglow more.

“We should totally write a song about this!” Raven screams into his ear as they push through the mass of bodies towards the backroom. “This, the whole fucking thing!”

And he knows exactly what she means. They all feel it but he’s the one who needs to write the lyrics. It won’t be that hard this time, he knows.

He’s crashing with Jasper and Monty that night but somehow they all end up in their room. They’ll have to go back on the road tomorrow but tonight they have whiskey and they loved their performance so a celebration is due.

Jasper is jumping around the room, flailing his arms wildly as Clarke and Raven laugh at him. “You were awesome, holy shit, I was all like- what the fuck!? Monty, tell ‘em!”

Monty is currently serving as a pillow to Octavia who confiscated his bed and is in the process of writing a tweet. “You were great, yeah, and Jasper was just jumping around screaming “ _We’re gonna be rich! Mont, we’re gonna be rich!_ ””

And that’s when it hits them. So far, they’re earning enough to cover the cost of food and other shit they wanna get while they’re on the road but Miller is talking to the company that signed them on and if things keep going this good, they are going to be earning a decent sum of money.

Octavia drops her phone, eyes boggled. “Shit, we _are_ going to be rich.”

“I am _so_ buying a boat,” Jasper whispers.

“What the hell are you going to do with a boat, Jas?” Raven frowns. “Can you even _drive_ a boat?”

“I need a boat, alright, Raven!?” he shouts, bouncing up and down. “I need a boat and don’t you dare judge me!”

Raven throws her hands up in mock surrender, and Bellamy’s still trying to think of what to say when Clarke speaks up.

“We should take it easy guys,” her voice is suddenly serious and her eyes are that exact intense blue that commands attention. “There is a good chance we do get rich but I don’t think any of us want to be assholes. If we’re going to get attention, we’re gonna use it to do some good.”

It’s like hearing himself speak and Bellamy can only blink wildly, deer caught in the headlights.

“She’s right,” Octavia nods. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do this right.”

“I agree with Princess,” Clarke doesn’t wince when he uses the nickname and he thinks it’s a good sign. “We do this right or we don’t do this at all.”

They forget about it for a while but then they’re in Atlanta, shooting the shit before they have to drag their asses to the stage, and a scruffy blonde guy approaches them, asking if they’re comfortable doing an interview.

So far, they’ve only received millions of questions via e-mail and twitter but no one actually approached them for an interview. It takes them a minute to agree to it, and they silently vow to respect their previous agreement of talking about the causes they sing about.

They’re not politicians, they’re nothing more than a bunch of underdogs who are gaining fame so fast their heads are still spinning, but if they can do something to change things – they will.

Bellamy is the first one to talk to the guy, Wick, and he retells the tale of how they came to be. Wick smiles all through it and it’s an earnest smile, not the sly, secretive one journalists usually have. He’s cool, even when Raven tells him to stop fucking around and ask them real questions already.

So he does. He asks them about their own experiences with injustice, their motives for starting the band and singing the songs they sing. Bellamy and Octavia are done telling their life story and he realizes that it’s different now – he still feels like a poor kid who buys a shittier sort of cereal because it’s cheaper, but it’s different because now they have hope. Now they’re succeeding and, as Octavia tells Wick, they want to help those who are still struggling.

“So, you’d say that these songs are definitely something personal to you guys?” Wick asks, leaning over his notepad.

“Yeah, obviously,” Octavia rolls her eyes but she isn’t annoyed, not really. “When Bell and Clarke sing about feeling out of place in all the lights, that’s from _97 Years_ , by the way,” she adds and Wick nods, “they’re saying that - yeah, kids like us are always going to feel out of place among crème de la crème. We don’t get that spot under the lights, our voices are always going to matter less. Which is something we all have experience with.”

“Sorry for asking, but, Clarke, you are – um, your family-“ Wick stumbles on words and his cheeks flush but they all know what he’s actually asking.

Bellamy tenses next to Clarke, shooting her a sidelong glance. He’s ready to shut him up and tell him to fuck off but she smiles. Clarke Griffin smiles and waves her hand like it doesn’t even matter.

“Yeah, I’m rich,” she deadpans. “That’s a funny one, actually, because Bellamy here-“ she points a finger at him, “yeah, he hated me at first. Told me my jacket could pay his rent and I had no place being there. And in a way, yes, I’m rich and I grew up privileged – I had a lot of opportunities that my bandmates didn’t. But I disagreed with that mindset, I still do. And I feel like I don’t have a place among that people, like O said, because I’m not willing to keep my mouth shut, I’m not willing to smile and look pretty while they’re throwing away the money that could keep someone else alive.”

“So what’s your reason for being here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My reason for being here?” she asks, pensive. “Well, for one, I’m pissed off. I’m pissed off that this world is going to shit and no one’s saying anything. I’m pissed off because my dad’s depression went untreated because it was a shame to be mentally ill if you had to keep up the appearances. And when he crashed the car it was easier to say that he was an alcoholic than admit that yeah, we ignored that he was sick and needed help. So that’s my reason.”

A stunned silence wraps around the room and no one can quite find the right words. Clarke stated her reasons, her life story, really, in a calm and collected voice and even now, when Bellamy is staring at her, she doesn’t fidget, doesn’t look away. She’s not angry, she’s not sad, she’s just – Clarke.

Octavia scoots closer to her and wraps her arm around her waist, pecking her on the cheek and Clarke beams at her. Shit, she _beams_ now. She just told the journalist about her dad and she’s not breaking down crying or shouting.

Bellamy knows he has no right to it but he still feels proud of her. That girl is tough as nails and he fucking loves her, in the blank space between the stage and the distance they keep. He fucking loves Clarke Griffin because she’s a hurricane and smooth sailing all in one and he wouldn’t trade her for anything.

“Clarke,” Wick leans forward, “I don’t have to print this. Seriously.”

It’s something she was obviously not expecting, if a second in which her eyes open wide is anything to go by, but then she’s back again and she smiles at him. “It’s fine, feel free. If it helps someone, it wasn’t in vain.”

They sit in silence for a while, and then Raven exclaims: “All right, who wants to hear about the time I made a truck go boom?”

 

**

 

Bellamy thinks that he knows when things began to change. In a way, it started after Atlanta. After Wick’s interview, Bellamy started looking at Clarke in a different light. He started respecting her after their first fight, and the deal had been sealed after what happened with Roma. It wasn’t like him to burst into tears on his sister’s doorstep but she broke him. Fucking Roma _broke_ him. And Clarke was there too, hesitant at first, but she fed him and managed to make him snap out of his pity party.

He was a wreck after his and Octavia’s mom died, too. He worked and he cooked, took care of O and tried to be a good brother, a good parent, but he went through the motions mechanically. At the end of the day, he was curled up in his bed or in the bed of his truck and he couldn’t even cry anymore – only dry heave as he cursed the world for doing this to him.

It took him a long time to turn the grief into anger, into motivation to get better and, ultimately, survive. So that’s why seeing Clarke, half a year after her father died, talk about it in a calm manner – not detached, not seemingly careless – means a lot to him. He is happy to see her feeling better but this – this was bravery. To let go and learn how to live again.

He starts looking at her so often that she punches his arm and orders him to quit staring unless she has something on her face.

And then Wick’s article is published and everyone wants to take a selfie with them in Raleigh. Jasper nearly faints when he wakes up one morning and goes to check the stats on Twitter and tumblr, only to realize that they gained a thousand followers overnight – and growing. Miller calls them with details on the festival they were supposed to play at in New York and they may or may not have gotten ceremoniously drunk.

The next morning is a blur. Bellamy wakes up with a throbbing headache and Jasper snoring next to him doesn’t help one bit. He gets up and stumbles to the bathroom of the motel room, only to have Raven nearly smash the door down as she shoves a stack of papers into his face.

“Look at this!”

This close up he can only see cursive writing in blue ink and he has to take a step back, nearly knocking into the shower.

“Fuck, Raven, how are you this - this alive?”

“Do you see this!?” she shouts again, waving the papers in front of his face. “Do you!?”

“I have no fucking idea what are you going on about but I’d appreciate it if you told me.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head and muttering, “The idiots I have to deal with-“

“ _Raven_. Give me that.”

She hands him the papers, crossing her arms at her chest as his eyes trail over the page. It is obvious that someone wrote lyrics, or a poem – lyrics, definitely, he realizes when he sees that there is a repeated chorus, and -

They are good, the lyrics are good.

“Where’d you get this?” he nearly whispers, unable to do anything else but blink. Raven looks smug as fuck.

“Clarke.”

“Wait, are you - Clarke wrote this?”

“It was in her bag so yeah. She wrote that and I demand her writing songs for us from now on, I don’t care if you-“she begins rambling, only for Bellamy to cut her off with a disbelieving smile.

“Yeah, don’t worry. She’s fucking talented, this is-“

“Awesome.”

It is awesome but it is also angry and poetic and all kinds of wonderful that Bellamy can’t wrap his head around.

He knew he was gone when Octavia takes over driving the van, with Monty and Jasper blabbing in the front seat with her, and Bellamy and Clarke find enough space between the drums and the amplifier to sit down and talk about the possibility of her becoming the song writer too.

“I know you’re the songwriter, Bellamy, I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from you,” Clarke apologizes, a tone too serious for an occasion this special. He wants to laugh but manages to contain it because – Clarke Griffin being self-conscious? That’s one for the scrapbook.

“You’re kidding, right?”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Because this is amazing,” he gestures towards the papers between them. “And if you don’t mind working with me – I’d love it if we did this together.”

“I don’t mind working with you, Bellamy,” she rolls her eyes but a smile is playing on her lips. “Just didn’t want you getting all territorial on me.”

“Me? Territorial?” he fakes offense. “I’m insulted, Princess.”

They get to work after that, trying to find the appropriate music for her lyrics. They don’t talk about what they mean, even if it is quite obvious, they just rehash them for hours on end until Octavia finally pulls up to a gas station and slams her foot on the brakes.

“I can’t listen to this anymore!”

Bellamy and Clarke exchange amused looks but follow her out. Raven jumps out of the van, too, and proceeds to tease them about how she made this happen.

“We’ll forever be grateful to you, Raven,” he pats her shoulder.

“Of course you will,” she grins. “I’m awesome.”

While the rest of the gang took care of filling the van with enough gas, Clarke and Bellamy get stuck on the store duty. It was actually the worst one because, no matter how many snacks the bought for the group, they’d always forget something.

And yet, they kept sending them together. This time it is because Octavia said she’d puke if she has to look at them for another minute, even the statement is accompanied by a sly grin.

There are a lot of things Bellamy can hide from people, but he can’t hide anything from Octavia. And he is pretty sure his sister knows and sees the way he looks at Clarke when she can’t see.

It is hard not to. It is so hard not to, when they work so well together and when she is amazing. There isn’t just one big thing that makes him fall hopelessly for her, there is a whole collective of million little things – like the way she sticks out her tongue a little when she is focused on something, or the way she laughs these days – bright and uncontained, her hands on Octavia’s forehead when she had food poisoning and Bellamy was ready to tear his hair out but Clarke calmed him down, told him she would be alright. Her considerateness, her intensity, her focus, her loyalty to the people she cares about – unblinking, unflinching – prepared to go through hell with them because they are her people.

It is hard not to look at her underneath the crackling fluorescent lights in an almost empty store, as she chuckles at a souvenir mug with a pun written on it, her hair frizzy and golden and looking a halo. No one can possibly look like a princess under these horrible lights, but Clarke can.

He falls in love with her in the aisle five, her hand on the small of his back as she pushes him forward because “I’m too short to reach Lays and Raven _will_ kill us if we don’t get it”, the electricity surging from her fingertips and seeping into his skin. He falls in love with her in the aisle five, chips and crackers, a surreal illusion of reality that exists only in gas station stores, underneath that particular lights, but – he’d choose her, he’d want her teasing him about tripping on a stray can of Pringles in any alternate universe.

He falls in love with her in the aisle five and he tells her nothing but her hand brushes against his when they are making their way to the checkout and he just wants to hold it and never let go. She smiles at him when their pinkies touch, a shy and careful smile with eyes so blue it made him think of ocean and storms.

The magic is broken when Jasper bursts through the doors, crazy-eyed and shouting, “Engine failure! Engine failure!”

It wasn’t anything Raven wasn’t able to fix in a couple of hours but the spell is gone and regret finds a permanent place in the bottom of his stomach as they sit on the curb and eat cookie dough-flavored Ben & Jerry’s, trying to forget what just happened and not being able to do so.

 

**

 

They first sing the song Clarke wrote in Jacksonville. They are playing on a beach which is unusual but not unheard of. Jasper and Monty are smug as they film the band’s reactions to the crowd lounging on the sand, waiting to hear them play.

Bellamy thought that the novelty of crowds would wear off after their tenth gig but it didn’t. He has a sneaking suspicion that it never will, as he climbs onstage and greets the audience with a loud cheer. Next to him, Clarke rolls her eyes, drawing laughter from those in the first row.

But he has a surprise for her and so he can’t do anything else but smirk, turning over to Octavia who just nods and starts strumming her strings, introducing them to the song. The rhythm starts out slow, almost lazy and languid but Bellamy knows that Clarke recognized it. Disbelief colors her face and he has to smile at that as he wraps his fingers around the mic.

“Tonight we got something special for you guys,” he says and waits for the applause to die down before he continues. Octavia is still playing the same beat, now accompanied by Raven. “You know Clarke, right?” the crowd cheers, “Well, our Princess is not only a fucking good singer but a songwriter too. Who would’ve known?”

They would. Everyone would. Only he didn’t.

“And tonight, we’re playing her first song! You wanna hear it?” another cheer, Clarke beaming at him. “I can’t hear you!” louder, louder, green and red lights flashing the stage, there was nothing but her face. “Alright!”

She presses her lips to her mic at the same time his fingers touch the strings of his guitar and he knows it’s going to be fucking amazing.

Clarke sings in a low voice, hoarse and raw and nothing like her. It still sends shivers down his spine. “ _My sadness is a wild one_ ,” it booms down the beach, bodies thrashing below them. “ _And my rage burns cities to the ground_ ,” she smiles at him just for a second and he swears he’d let his fingers bleed for her, “ _God, I’d give everything to know_ -“

His fingers work the strings as he joins her for the chorus. “ _When you fall to the floor and all you think about is where it went wrong_ ,” it is loud and it is wild and why the hell did he ever think that Clarke wasn’t like this? “ _When the world spins and you're still the same_ ,” and then – harmony in voices ripped from their throats. “ _Where do you go from here?_ ”

_Where do you go from here?_

He plays the rest of the gig, does his usual stunts and throws his shirt at the crowd when they are done but – for him – it all started and ended with that song, with her sadness so wild it wrecked everything, the sadness he knows intimately. But she looks like a queen, not like a princess – like a warrior who took the pain and suffering and still smiled, still laughed, in spite of her heart that must have threatened to burst from her chest.

Clarke Griffin and her wide smile are everything. He is long gone and he can’t even remember why he didn’t want her there, why he wanted Roma in the first place, when Clarke is exactly who is supposed to stand on stage with them, loud and victorious and happy.

Bellamy is about to tell her how perfect she was when they sat down on the beach, waves crashing inches from their bare feet and her eyes crinkle with smiling at something Monty says. It seems like a good moment to whisper against the bare skin of her neck and she turns her head to face him. Seconds, moments till the crash in which everything would come bursting out from his lips and-

Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she frowns at it. “Sorry, I- I have to take this. I’ll be right back.”

He watches her walk away and wonders why the hell this never came out right. He spends the next hour listening to Jasper’s terrible jokes and Raven’s swearing because Wick was still texting her, and it isn’t until Octavia asks that he realizes that Clarke has been gone for so long.

“I’ll go find her,” she gets up, dusting the sand from her pants but Bellamy motions for her to sit down.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go. Sit tight.”

The look she shoots him was one of Octavia Blake TM looks – I know what you’re doing and I don’t know if I should condone it. But he gets up and leaves too soon for her to say anything.

Clarke is sitting on the hood of the van when he finds her and the sight of her breaks his heart. She looks small and crumpled, curled around herself and her hands gripping her sides.

“Clarke-“

She jumps a little when she hears him and then turns her head away to wipe her tears, thinking he didn’t seen them. He did. And he wants to punch whoever made her feel that way.

He sits next to her and the van buckles a little under his weight. “What’s wrong?”

“Hi, Bell,” she presses out, still rubbing her eyes. “Everything’s fine, I’ll be with you in a sec.”

When he doesn’t move, she drops her hands in her lap and frowns at him. “You _can_ go.”

“Nope.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me the name of whoever I have to punch in order to make you feel better,” he states, crossing his arms at his chest and staring straight ahead.

“Well, how do you feel about punching women?”

“What?”

Clarke sighs, finally turning her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes are red and puffy but it isn’t knowing that she cried that does it for him – it’s the way she just looks hopeless and broken. She looks just like they are back in the garage and he’s asking her what the hell does she know about punk. The sadness is the same.

He doesn’t know how his arm comes to rest around her shoulders but she leans into him and lets out another small sigh. “My mom called.”

Bellamy doesn’t know a lot about Abby Griffin, except that she is a surgeon, wealthy and disagrees with Clarke a lot.

“She read the interview. I mean, I knew she probably would and- and I shouldn’t be so surprised but -“he feels her tense against him and she swallows hard before continuing, “she kept yelling at me, you’re ruining our family, Clarke, everything we’ve worked hard for is now in question and - yeah, she was just yelling a lot and told me my dad would be so angry.”

He squeezes her shoulder and she nods.

“She doesn’t like feeling guilty about it. I mean, she knew my dad was in a bad place, always has been –really, but he just laughed and joked around – didn’t want anyone to know how he really felt. She knows she should’ve done something but God forbid that Jake Griffin would have to get therapy, _that_ would seriously mess up her and Jaha’s plans for the campaign.”

“ _Thelonious_ Jaha?”

She nods with a disgusted look on her face. “He’s gonna run for President or something. My dad actually helped him with the sustainable development part and- well, if your engineer and main consultant on a huge part of your program was depressed and possibly delusional – that’s not gonna work well with donators, is it?”

This was the part Clarke never mentioned. At least not to him. Bellamy knows that she must know a lot about politics, she was practically immersed in it, but she never talked about it. Her family came up a couple of times in conversation but she kept that door firmly locked.

And now he suspects that it wasn’t so easy to do that, if there is something stuck inside that locked room and it bangs its ugly fists against the door. This is a part of her and he feels guilty for making her feel like she needs to suppress it.

“Shit, Clarke, I’m – I had no idea, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. That’s my mom’s life, it’s not mine. If they don’t give a fuck about the real reason my dad got drunk and wrapped his car around a tree, I don’t give a fuck about them. But, well, she called and,” she pauses and lets out a very feeble chuckle that wasn’t a real chuckle at all, “you’re gonna love this. She’s disowning me.”

“Fuck, no – _what_?”

“So I guess we’ll have to come up with a song about a privileged brat who’s getting disowned, right?” she nudges his shoulder with his but there’s no heat to that joke and he just wants to hug her.

“I never wanted this to happen and I’m sorry about your mom. Do you need us to fly back? We can – we’ll – fuck the tour, if you need us, we’ll-“

Her voice snaps him out of his rambling. “Bellamy, no.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I-“ she worries her lip and then moves away from him, enough to be able to look at him without craning her neck. “You guys are my family now. My mom, she – she hasn’t been for a while. And if it weren’t for the band, I’d probably still be crying on my floor. I know you thought I’d leave but – no. You are my family, you are my people and I am so thankful for you guys. I am so thankful for _you_.”

Her hand comes to squeeze his and she looks at him, earnest and intense. He could tell her. He could.

But he doesn’t. Because Clarke already has a lot on her plate without him and he’s not going to make it harder for her.

“I’m really happy you’re here, too.”

He doesn’t think of anything else to say and so he just wraps her in a hug. She’s warm and small in his arms but she feels like the whole fucking universe when she looks up and her eyes are back to clear blue, blue of the crystal skies, and beams.

 

**

They write songs on their way back to New York and this time Octavia doesn’t moan that much, even if she’s disappointed that they didn’t go to Harry Potter theme park in Orlando. Bellamy promises to take her there the next time they’re in Florida and she seems to be okay with that.

That doesn’t mean that she’s not cornering him when they’re in a dollar store near Albany and the rest of the gang is spending way more money than they should on skull-shaped erasers and glitter. Unfortunately, Bellamy fell behind and now he’s standing still with Octavia’s sharp eyes trained on him.

“You’re in love with Clarke.”

That’s not even a question, Octavia already knows and he can only slump against the wall behind him and sigh.

“O, what?”

She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a blue piece of paper, much to his bemusement. He has a weird déjà vu when she shoves it into his face.

“Fuck, what’s with you and Raven and shoving papers into my face?”

He doesn’t even have to read what’s written to know what the paper is. Octavia just looks smug when he glances at her.

“You wrote a _love_ song. You wrote a love song about _Clarke_ , Bell.”

 “See, you’re emphasizing words but I have no idea what’re you talking about.”

“Bellamy,” she growls.

“It’s not even about Clarke, see – no name there, right?”

“Ahem,” she clears her throat and snatches the paper from him, making a whole show of reading the first few lines. “ _I fell in love with you in the aisle five, long gone before your hair turned golden, a princess doesn’t need her crown but I swear I’d make you one, Suburbia Queen_. What the fuck, Bell. Firstly, this is horrible and you should be ashamed and, secondly, she didn’t even grow up in the suburbs!”

“So it’s not about her,” he shrugs, which only provokes Octavia.

“Yeah, so many girls you call princess, wow – grow the fuck up,” she hisses.

“What _do_ you want me to say, O?”

“I don’t want you to say anything but you should tell Clarke. Don’t show her the song, it’s lame and pathetic and she’ll dump you but you should definitely tell her.”

He should. He knows he should. It’s just that the time is never right.

“She hates me.”

“She- oh, wow,” Octavia lets out a bitter laugh and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I definitely fall asleep on people I hate. That’s such a _normal_ thing to do when you hate someone. It’s probably an elaborate plot to slowly kill you.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m not gonna tell you again. Tell. Her. You can’t keep on nursing this pathetic schoolboy crush forever if it’s gonna influence your songwriting.”

She’s not going to let him go until he agrees to do what she says so he nods. “Fine. Yeah.”

Octavia walks away but stops after a few seconds, doing her best ‘I am watching you’ Robert De Niro impression and Bellamy is left wondering how it is that he always loves these frightening women.

 

For a while, Bellamy thinks Octavia forgot what they talked about. She shot him a glare or two on their way to New York, watching the road and watching him and Clarke, and Bellamy is thankful that the festival takes up too much of her time to bother him about Clarke.

It’s when they’re done playing for the night, their first day at the festival, and they’re sitting at a table with another band, The Tree Crew, that Octavia shoots him another pointed glare and he sighs.

They’re nearly done with the tour anyways so he might as well get on with it. If she hates him, they’ll have enough time to work it out. And if she doesn’t – well, that’s even better.

Clarke is sitting next to the lead singer of The Tree Crew, Lexa Woodley and their heads are bowed together, a small smile playing on Clarke’s lips as Lexa whispers something into her ear. Lexa is gorgeous and intimidating and obviously interested in Clarke. Bellamy should be happy for her. Clarke definitely deserves someone who likes and gets her.

When he turns his gaze back to where Octavia and Anya of The Tree Crew are talking about something (all three members of the band are gorgeous and intimidating, plus – they’re really talented, even if they’re closer to death metal than anything else) Monty catches his eye and the look he shoots Bellamy is full of pity.

“I’m sorry,” Monty mouths, jerking his head towards Clarke and Lexa.

It’s that obvious, apparently.

He downs another glass of whiskey and decides to torture himself further by sneaking another glance Clarke and Lexa’s way.

It’s what he sees then that makes his stomach plummet and he has to grip the table so hard his knuckles turn white to stop himself from falling off his chair.

Lexa is pressing kisses on Clarke’s neck, her arm around Clarke’s waist and it looks like it’s only moments from the two of them excusing themselves and leaving to find a room. Bellamy should be happy for her, he should, he should, and the words replay in his head but they don’t explain why he feels the simmer of jealousy in the pits of his stomach and why he wants to turn the whole fucking table over.

When Clarke turns her head to kiss Lexa, he gets up. He tries to make a discreet exit, not selfish enough to ruin Clarke’s night but he fails spectacularly – knocking glasses and his chair down. Raven frowns at him and Monty runs over to help but he doesn’t stay long enough to see what Clarke looks like.

The night is warm and humid and suddenly he can’t breathe. So this is what it looks like, not having her, not ever being able to have her. It was easy until then, easy because she was so affectionate with him after that night in Jacksonville and he managed to spin himself into this weird fantasy of being able to be with her one day.

It was easy. And now it’s hard.

He’s not sure why he kicks the van’s tire but he does, only to yelp out in pain and realize that it didn’t help at all.

Clarke has the right to be happy with whomever she wants to be. And she was never, ever going to choose him – the one who insulted her, who dragged her down and made her fight for her place in the band.

“What a fucking idiot,” he mutters because he knows that he is. She was _never_ going to want him.

A couple making out against their car throws him a suspicious look and he sees the guy ushering the girl into the red Honda.

He slumps against the van and then recoils, remembering the day they painted it and the night before that. He’d hit rock bottom and he would’ve done everything Roma asked. But Clarke and Octavia were there for him, _Clarke_ was there for him – he hadn’t showed her anything but hatred and she only showed kindness.

Bellamy fell in love with her in the aisle five but she never fell in love with him and now it seems like it was all in his head – her eyes and her smile, her hand brushing his. An accident, just a coincidence – nothing that amounts to a whole.

“Fucking hell.”

He’s jealous and he has no right to be, Clarke is her own person and she is not a possession but – he just wants her. Wants her to be happy but God, it would be really amazing if she could be happy next to him.

The doors to the bar open and he sees a sliver of gold flashing in the dim parking lot, but he hears her first, “What the hell, Bellamy!?”

She’s angry, of course she is – he practically threw a fit after he saw them kiss, even if it wasn’t intentional. He was never the one to be a jealous jerk who ruins someone else’s chances because he can’t contain himself. He will, if Clarke wants to be with Lexa, he’ll suck it up and be happy for her.

“What the fuck was that!?” she shouts again and there’s storm brewing in her eyes.

The words are out of his mouth before he even knows it, “I see you’ve made yourself cozy with Lexa.”

She stands still, fists clenched at her sides, and he can see a whole array of emotions flashing on her face. Surprise, pain, anger.

“Why’s that any of your business?” she spits out through gritted teeth and there’s so much venom in it that it takes his breath away.

No. Not like this, he never meant it to be like this. He-

He’s a fucking idiot who can’t back down, that’s what he is, and he knows it full well before he even opens his mouth to speak.

“You can’t fraternize with the enemy, Princess!”

There’s a clear look of disappointment on her face. Throughout the last few months, it’d become a fond nickname, nothing he could say when he was angry and now he’d gone and done it.

When she backs up, just a few steps but enough to be out of his reach again, he wants to do something – touch her – tell her that he didn’t mean that. But he doesn’t. He never does.

“How is Lexa the enemy?”

“It’s unprofessional, we’re-“

“Wow,” she breathes, eyes open wide in amazement. “That’s really fucking rich, coming from you. You’ve fucked your way left and right from Boston to Raleigh and you have the _audacity_ to school _me_ on professional behavior!? Fucking unbelievable!”

“You wanna fuck Lexa?” he shouts but she doesn’t even flinch, standing her ground and making him feel smaller and smaller with every second her steely gaze is trained on him. “Fine, go fuck Lexa fucking Woodley! See if I care!”

Clarke narrows her eyes and then something changes. They lose the vitriol they get when they fight – she’s not in it to win anymore, and he was out of it for a very long time. Her look softens and her hands fall to her sides.

When she speaks, her voice is barely louder than a whisper. “Is that what this is about? Bellamy, are you _jealous_?”

Yes. Yes. Yes.

“No, I’m – I’m not jealous,” he mutters, avoiding her gaze because he’ll crack under it – he never even stood a chance.

“Bellamy, you don’t-“

“Have the right to be jealous, I know,” he nods and it’s a fucking surrender, he throws his hands up in the air but he still can’t look at her. There’s a stray can of Coke in front of his shoes and he wants to kick it. “I know I don’t, I just-“

“What I was going to say,” she says and her voice is suddenly light, teasing, so he looks up and sees her smiling, “is that you don’t have to be. Jealous of Lexa.”

He can only blink in surprise at her words, and her smile is a breathtaking thing. “I don’t?”

Clarke shakes her head and then takes a slow walk towards him, stopping only when her shoes touch his, and she’s still smiling and his stomach is still on a free fall.

“You know, jealousy?” she starts, raising her eyebrows at him. “That’s not very punk rock of you.”

He’s still blinking, confused and completely amazed. “Right, yeah, it’s not?”

“Nope,” she pops the p audibly and then her hands come to rest on the back of his neck. He swears he can hear electricity crackling in his skin.

He’s either very brave or very stupid when he presses a hand on the small of her back and pushes her closer. Still not close enough and he wonders if anything will ever be close enough.

When she tangles a hand in his hair and beams at him, he figures it was both bravery and stupidity and decides to take another wild plunge into the unknown, pressing his lips to her jaw.

Her skin is wet and hot under his lips but she melts into the touch, fists his curls with her hand and when he kisses the corner of her mouth, she’s the one to mutter something under her breath and then finally – fucking finally – she kisses him.

Kissing Clarke, Bellamy had thought, would be a battle for dominance. But this is different, her lips soft and smooth as his tongue parts them and finds hers. It’s not a battle, it’s so much better. There’s still electricity every time she catches his lower lip with hers and then chuckles, smug, but he reiterates and figures he’s still got the upper hand when his mouth swallows her groan.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, leaning against the van and exploring each other almost lazily, but they finally part and her lips are red as cherries, swollen and wet, and he knows he’s not any better either.

Clarke leans her forehead against his and sighs, closing her eyes. “Wow.”

He can only nod, still caught up in the fact that he was kissing Clarke, that it’s her bare skin he feels under his fingertips, and yeah, he’s gone.

“I’m sorry but - I’m so fucking in love with you, Princess.”

She chuckles, the vibration reverberating in his body when they’re still tangled up. Something warm spills in his chest and it’s a fucking bliss that he gets to do this.

“Bellamy Blake,” she whispers, opening her eyes. They’re the clearest blue he’s ever seen and he knows every blue of her eyes – this one is by far his favorite, “never apologize for your feelings. That’s not punk rock.”

He kisses her again and he knows it was all worth it. Every stolen glance, every time they brushed hands and did nothing, this whole tour and all the fights – it was all worth it. He is Clarke’s and it’s all worth it.

She pulls him into the van with a smug expression on her face and he thinks that it’s really fucking appropriate that they’re tearing clothes off of each other in that same van. And when she comes with his name on her lips, wearing the same goofy grin that is surely plastered on his face as well, it becomes really obvious that it couldn’t have gone any other way.

Clarke is here and she is his and he is hers, smiling with her head pressed on his chest as she draws imaginary patterns into his skin. She is warm and soft when he presses her closer but she’s not made of glass, never was. She’s his Princess but she’ll kick his ass if she wants to and, really – it’s fucking perfect.

There’ll be hell to pay in the morning and they’re just laughing about it when the doors to the van pop open and they scramble to cover themselves up.

Raven and Octavia look fucking smug and he knows Clarke’s cheeks are burning up the same as his.

“Just tell me you didn’t have sex on the drums,” is all Raven asks of them but they can’t do anything else but duck their heads and look sheepish because, really, who the fuck knows? He’s not even sure what happened in that van because all he could think of is Clarke and every inch of her skin he wants to cover with his lips.

“Fuck,” Raven huffs, “I’ll have to burn them.”

And that’s just that, they figure after the last day of festival comes and goes, and the whole group is sprawled on the grass in Central Park. That’s their family, that has always been their family, mercilessly teasing them and loving them all the same. These are their people.

“Families,” Clarke whispers quiet enough for no one else to hear, still high on adrenaline like the rest of them, restless and shifting but impossibly soft when her lips are touching his cheek, “that’s punk rock, too.”

Bellamy figures she’s right and he really fucking loves her. So, what else is new?

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> That's that! Thank you for reading and I hope you find time to leave kudos and comments because those are my FAVE (and you're all lovely for doing it)! 
> 
> And if you maybe want to check out my tumblr, aka my trash can, click [here](http://marauders-groupie.tumblr.com).
> 
> EDIT: I made a cover for this because of course I did, and you can check it out [here](http://marauders-groupie.tumblr.com/post/130486893632)


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